


The Long Leash: Interlude

by Ryoko21



Series: The Long Leash [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Clones, Dildos, Dubious Consent, Flogging, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Outer Space, Restraints, Sex Toys, Sexual Lessons, Sexual Performance, Sexual Slavery, Spies & Secret Agents, Voyeurism, Whips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 144,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8191511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryoko21/pseuds/Ryoko21
Summary: Undercover agent Zeke Price delves deeper into the slave ring called the Leash with the help of his two assets: former-soldier Zero and sickly domestic Kiplan. While training both assets as bed-slaves, Zeke must maintain his cover as an Owner without doing irreparable harm to either of the men in his care. The balancing act becomes more treacherous as Zeke wades through the complicated social circle of the Leash in hopes of dismantling the organization from the top.





	1. A Night on The Line - Zero POV

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! It's good to be back! Thank you to everyone who waited patiently (or not so patiently, lol) for me to return. A couple notes before I start:
> 
> I'm not sure what day will end up being the official "posting day." Last time it was Thursday and that worked out pretty well for me, but my schedule is always changing, so I might settle on a different day this time. (I got some comments between yesterday and today, and I just couldn't hold back from posting another chapter.) I still plan to post once a week, and I know everyone starts to get used to the particular day that I post, so I will try to get into the habit again soon. 
> 
> I struggled a bit with the title of this section, but eventually left it as "Interlude." The reason is this: previously, I had been naming the sections based on the primary character that I added. (The new perspective that I introduced.) This section will not have a new perspective (as far as I'm aware, lol) it will just remain with Zero, Kip, and Zeke. This sections is an in-between section, the interlude between getting Kip and getting the next main character. 
> 
> I had hoped to complete a full ten chapters during my hiatus, but sadly life had other plans. I did, however, manage a full seven and part of eight and nine, so I'm confident that I've got at least ten weeks of material before I need to sweat about it. As always, I try my best to update every week, but I can't make any guarantees. However, I now have a while team of betas to help me out, both making the fic cleaner to read and helping me with plot kinks and issues. Please give you praise to my betas, they are the absolute best. Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways are really helping me out and I appreciate them so much. They are absolutely the most awesome. :)
> 
> Okay, that's all for me. I'm trying to do some new things and introduce new aspects into this section, so please leave me your feedback and let me know what you think. Thank you all so much for bearing with me. I hope it was worth the wait!

"He's so damn tame, it's hard to believe he's actually a zero."

I'm kneeling at Zeke's feet. The man speaking is owner James Peterson. He runs the Line, a popular bar among the elite. Once a month, the club opens its doors for an invitation-only event exclusive to the Leash. My research has told me that this establishment usually caters to wealthy patrons with a taste for bondage and sadism. I haven't managed to find any information about the activities during exclusive nights.

"Zero knows better than to act up when we're in public. He can be a handful, though. I have to constantly assert my dominance and continue his training so that he doesn't step out of line. Even a small act of defiance could seriously injure me," Master Zeke responds. I can tell from his voice that he's trying to downplay just how domesticated I am. It wouldn't serve his purposes for the other owners to forget how dangerous I can be.

Zeke's fingers brush through my hair and down to my shoulder. We're in a lavish sitting room where we were escorted to after we exited our jump ship. Master Zeke is reclined on a dark burgundy couch, while Owner Peterson is pacing across the room. The decorations in this area are antique-style, with wood and marble fixtures. Hand drawn paintings adorn the walls, and there are thick carpets on the floors. It's a stark contrast from the parts of the club we walked through, where shining chrome and black leather dominated. I assume that this is Owner Peterson's private meeting room, decorated in this way to impress important guests. Master's face gives no hints as to whether or not this tactic has been effective.

Master Zeke pulls me against his leg, and I put my face against soft material of his black leather pants. His shirt is the soft, red silk one that he pulls out when he wants to look dangerous and sexual. Owner Peterson watches as Zeke forces me to tilt my head back, then captures my lips in a kiss. I let my eyes slip closed, just as I've been trained to. I force my body to remain relaxed, even though my instincts tell me that closing my eyes in this situation is dangerous. James Peterson is a threat. I should be ready for an attack.

The kiss ends and Master pulls back, but keeps me pressed against his thigh. I can feel the heat from his body along mine. I'm naked except for skin-tight black shorts and a black slave collar with Master Zeke's tag. Kiplan is similarly attired, kneeling on Zeke's other side, except that he's wearing white shorts as compliment to my black ones.

"I'm sorry to pull you away from the main event like this," Owner Peterson continues, "but I had to make sure you had your zero under control. I know I saw him at Red Seven, but I typically don't allow combat assets in here and with him so recently converted…"

"I understand," Master cuts in. I can tell that he's pleased. "Zero is unusual, to say the least. I can see why you would be concerned, but let me put your fears to rest. I have Zero under control, and I won't let him out of my sight."

"To be honest, I'm excited to see him perform. If you're planning to show him tonight, that is?" 

Zeke shrugs his shoulders casually.

"Perhaps. Although I'm not really sure what kind of performance we're talking about."

"That's the other reason I called you up here. I wanted to give you an idea of what you could expect tonight. I mean, you could simply wander the floor and find out for yourself, but I thought you would prefer a brief introduction."

Zeke nods and leans forward with interest, but Owner Peterson doesn't seem inclined to get straight to business. I feel his eyes on me, but I keep my head down. After a few seconds of hesitation, Peterson says, "Would you care for a glass of Bourbon? I recently acquired an export from Earth."

"Please."

Peterson moves to a tall wooden cabinet along the far wall. The edges are etched with intricate designs of animals - bears, wolves, elk, and eagles. Earth animals that I've only ever seen in vids. The wood has a dark brown color with natural rings. Either the cabinet is very old, or it's made to look that way.

"This is one of the last pre-interstellar batches. It was bottled around the turn of the last century in Nebraska."

As he speaks, Peterson opens the front doors of the cabinet and pulls out a silver tray. The tray holds two crystal glasses and a decanter filled with dark liquid. My skin prickles at the idea of Master Zeke drinking an unbottled liquid from a potential threat, but I know it's more likely that he's trying to hide the actual origins of the liquor. Vintage alcohols from Earth are rare and expensive even in this group. Earth is notorious for holding onto its assets, refusing to send anything off world without a steep exchange rate. Peterson certainly has the cash for that kind of purchase, but he's new money. It's unlikely he has the connections to get such an item, even less likely that he'd share it with Master Zeke, a near stranger.

Master accepts the drink politely and makes a show of inhaling the scent of the liquid. I'd like to think that he's checking the contents for poison, but that's unlikely. A good quality poison would have no taste or scent, but also it would probably be considered rude to obviously check for a trap. Master's actions probably relate more to some custom when drinking expensive liquors that I'm not aware of.

"What do you think?" Peterson asks, sipping his own drink.

"The bouquet is very nice, earthy with a hint of spice." Master takes a sip of the liquid. "The flavor is strong but not overpowering, and that spice that I scented still comes through. A hint of citrus, as well?" Peterson nods. "And the finish is very smooth, which I would expect from an aged bourbon."

"Don't you think there's something extra there, though? Some people swear that there's no difference between space brew and planet-side, but I don't agree. What are your views on the matter?"

There's one big difference that I know of: price. Peterson is pressing Zeke for confirmation that this drink is superior, and I have to wonder if it's because he's hoping to sell an expensive fake.

There's a moment of hesitation from Master that tells me he knows something is off. Then Master gives a chagrined smile. "I must admit, I'm no expert with Earth-made whiskey," Zeke sidesteps. Without giving Peterson time to respond, Master presses, "Now wines are a different matter. Have you tried Earth-made wine? A good vintage, of course. Something from the last century?"

Peterson shakes his head.

"I'll send you a bottle from my family's stores," Zeke offers. "Something in a red wine, bottled in Versailles." It's a generous offer. Some of the contraband my previous owner passed through his sector was stolen Earth wine. It fetched a hefty sum even at only a few decades old.

"I would enjoy that," Peterson accepts, and I can tell from the way his eyes look away from Master Zeke that he's trying to downplay his own enthusiasm. "Your family is European, isn't it?"

"As far back as I can trace. Mainly in the northeastern part of the continent, although I do have ties to French and English ancestry as well."

I only vaguely recognize the areas of Earth that Master is referring to. Prior to space travel, the areas of Earth were divided into countries run by political parties. After the population upheaval in the post-colonization rush, most areas of Earth realigned based on land ownership.

"And your family still has land holdings on Earth, correct? You were born there?"

Ah, I think. That explains why he wanted Master's endorsement of the liquor. The opinion of an Earth native would hold some weight on the value of the alcohol.

"Yes to both, although I only own a couple closed-up estates and a few sections of agricultural land."

Master Zeke is downplaying the importance of his Earth property, but I've never heard of landholdings on Earth being small. Land on Earth is another heritage-based luxury of the old-wealth families. As space travel expanded, most families with the ability to purchase land did so until there was little left for the lower classes.

As the upper class families bought out land, many of the poor in society migrated into space in hopes of a better future, although they generally endured crowded conditions on malfunctioning or unsustainable satellite environments. People migrated or upgraded their satellites until the only one left occupied but practically uninhabitable was Satellite 12, with an environment so badly shielded that all the inhabitants had red-streaked irises from radiation poisoning. That ended nearly two decades ago, with the collapse of the Satellite's life support system.

If Master Zeke's family has land holdings on Earth, then that area is large, strong, and independent enough for other families not to want to attack it outright to steal its property. Master Zeke is essentially in line to be a sovereign ruler of an independent country. The only thing stronger than a land-owning family on Earth is the Council of Earth, where members of land-owning families agree to the terms by which Earth is governed. If Master Zeke is in line for the head of his family, he might someday have a seat on the Council.

Great, I think to myself dryly. Another reason that someone might want to kill my Master.

"Do people often ask you what Earth is like?" Peterson asks. He settles on a couch opposite to Master, sipping his drink absently.

"There's a lot of natural curiosity about it, given that I have a passport."

Not long after space became inhabitable, Earth enacted a rule that banned any person born in space from returning. Even among the Leash, having Earth citizenry is a coveted privilege.

"And what do you tell them?" Peterson hints. It's obvious that he doesn't want to lower himself to asking the question outright, but that he's as curious about Earth as anyone else.

Master gives a chuckle and says, "I tell them what they want to hear. That the sunsets are beautiful enough to make you cry. That the ocean is so big that you can hardly see the curve of the planet. The the sky is vast and endless, dotted with puffy clouds and a multitude of colors. That it's beautiful, and makes you want to believe in a higher power."

"But?" Peterson prompts, hearing the contradiction in Master's voice.

"But the truth of it is that all of those things can be faked convincingly on a ship. The truth is that half the planet is a polluted wasteland, filled with misery and decay. That Earth, despite being so much larger than any ship or satellite, can make a man feel small and trapped, no matter how much wealth he has."

I've been told that Earth is a land of stark contradictions. That the wealthy and affluent live behind gilded walls, surrounded by abject poverty. On Earth, it's said, you are either a king or a slave.

"Honestly," Master continues, "Our tera-forming has gotten to the point that soon we'll be making our own planets. And seeing the stars from down there can never come close to being among them."

Peterson gives a soft sound of amusement and stares at his drink.

"You know, my family came from the United States." He gestures at the decor in the room. "This is all vintage from across America. My family was well off when they came here, but too proud to send their women back to Earth to give birth. So I've never had a passport, but I've always dreamed of going to ground."

They lapse into silence, both quietly sipping their drinks until Peterson says, "Look at the two of us. A space boy dreaming of the blue planet, and an Earth prince staring at the stars. What a pair we make."

Again, Master doesn't seem to know how to respond. He lets the silence continue, broken only by the noises from the ventilation system in the ship. Master seems uncomfortable in general with speaking about his family. I've never heard him mention them before, and he doesn't seem to want to discuss it now. It might be something that I need to look into, now that I know he's from a land-holding heritage.

Finally, Peterson lets the subject drop. He turns his attention to Kip, who is sitting on the floor by Master's other leg.

"I haven't mentioned your second asset yet. He's quite a divergence from the first."

"This is Kiplan," Master says, gesturing to where Kip is reclining. Kip stiffens, lowering his head demurely. "He's a nice change of pace from Zero, much more docile and submissive."

I repress the urge to roll my eyes. If only Peterson knew how far that was from the truth.

"And your zero doesn't hurt him? Doesn't pick on him?"

Master's leg twitches behind me, but it's the only outward sign that Peterson has struck a nerve. I keep my eyes from straying to Kip by sheer force of will. There's a burning sensation in my chest when I think of how I treated him when Master first acquired him. I'm not familiar with guilt, but I assume that's what the feeling is.

"We had some issues when they were both settling in, but I don't allow that kind of behavior in my assets," Master says. His tone is probably more serious than the question warrants, but his expression remains neutral. "I don't think it's good for them to be competing among themselves."

"Smart," Peterson compliments. "Their focus should be on you, not each other."

Kiplan bites his lip, uncomfortable with all the attention. Master reaches out offhandedly and pulls it from between his teeth, a move made both intimate and sexual by how slowly Master does it. I think this is probably a deliberate move from Master to show Peterson how docile and submissive Kip is - although from the way he blushes, I can tell that Kiplan isn't expecting the strategic movement.

“Can I see them together?” Peterson asks.

“Of course,” Master agrees, and gestures for Kip and me to stand. We move together until we’re a few steps away from the two owners, then turn and face them. I catch myself before I can fall into the waiting pose for a combat asset, with my hands fisted and my wrists crossed in front. Kip, likewise, seems to catch himself in the act of putting his palms up, the waiting pose for a domestic asset. Instead, he puts his hands behind his back and clasps them, then lowers his eyes. It’s a standing version of the usual kneel for a pleasure asset, but it will give Peterson a better view of us than if we were on the floor. I’m only a second behind in mirroring his position.

"They are lovely side by side like that,” Peterson compliments as he gets to his feet and approaches us. “Did you pick him just for the contrast?"

"I was more interested in temperament when I got Kip. Despite the fact that I don't allow infighting between my assets, I wasn't sure if I could stop Zero from killing him.”

Peterson stops just short of touching us, crowding too close to be polite if we were anything other than pleasure assets. I keep my eyes down and I know that Kip is doing the same, but it’s hard not to look up and take measure of this man. I can feel him looming over us, and I know that he’s feeling the advantage of his height. He’s almost as tall as Master Zeke, although he’s dark haired and green eyed where Master Zeke is blonde and blue eyed. I know too, from my experiences with Master, what a shallow protection those few inches of height are if I should choose to use my superior strength and training.

But I’m pinned by the knowledge that Master Zeke would not be pleased if I harmed this man. I trust Master. So I stay still as Peterson’s hands brush over my cheek, tipping my face until I’m looking into his eyes.

“I’ve never seen such dark eyes on a clone,” he says. “It’s almost black, isn’t it? And it certainly gives him a sinister look, don’t you think?”

“If you’re so easily frightened,” Master responds, “I suppose he could seem intimidating.”

I grit my teeth, but manage to keep my expression from revealing my annoyance. I know Zeke is trying to reinforce the fact that he isn’t afraid of me, but his repeated belittling of my persona is irritating. I  _ am _ something to be frightened of. Just because I submit to Master Zeke doesn’t make me less of a threat.

In the past, such assertions of dominance hadn’t bothered me. My previous owner had belittled me often in front of his hired fighters as a way to build himself up. It hadn’t bothered me then, but at that point I was nearly a robot, with my emotions suppressed down to the barest instincts. Things are different now.  _ I’m  _ different now.

Peterson finishes his inspection of me, moves to my left until he’s standing in front of Kip.

“This one now,” Peterson says, tipping Kip’s chin in the same manner he had mine. “This is a familiar face. I had a couple of these in my harem a few years ago. I’m surprised to even see one running around. The whole batch was weak, constantly having medical issues. I sold mine to the labs when they were too weak to work.”

I hear Kip take an involuntary breath, but it’s the only sign that Peterson’s words have hit him. I keep my eyes forward, keep my fingers clasped behind my back. It’s more difficult than I had anticipated. I want to slip a comforting hand into his, want to reassure him that I won’t let something like that happen to him. I was there when Kip first came to us, saw the fear in him as he grasped for Master Zeke as his savior, despite his belief that owners are evil. I listened to him cry in fevered nightmares while Zeke comforted him. I watched from afar, unable and unwilling to let myself get close to someone who I thought would try to take my place.

But that was all before I knew how strong Kip really is, long before I learned to see under his kind smile to the fiercely loyal person beneath it.

“I’m told that Kip was once a skilled domestic,” Master says in reply, “but now he’s only strong enough for pleasure.”

“That sounds about right,” Peterson says. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shift closer to Kip. His thumb strokes along Kip’s jaw. His other hand comes to Kip’s hip, blocking the only direction that Kip can move without running into me.

There’s a definite sexual undertone to Peterson’s movements now, the way he leans in close. I can feel the predatory nature to him without looking, can sense the way Kip tenses and shifts back. It’s the wrong tactic. Peterson shifts closer, liking the chase.

“Do you mind if I taste this one?” Peterson asks Zeke. His thumb comes up to stroke Kip’s bottom lip. “He has such a sweet mouth. But then, his batch were all pretty and sweet. I was disappointed when I had to get rid of them.”

“He’s still a bit nervous,” Master Zeke replies. I cast a quick glance at him and find that he’s still sitting, attempting to appear casual about the situation, but I can see a line of tension in his shoulders. It tells me that he’s not as comfortable with letting Peterson touch Kip as he’d like to appear, but he’s also not sure how to politely decline. If I’m reading this situation correctly, Master Zeke is hoping to make a potential ally out of Peterson, and denying him this small request could jeopardize that.

“I’ll be gentle,” Peterson promises softly. He’s leaning toward Kip, and I can see the way Kip tenses, his hands twitching as he fights the urge to push Peterson away. For whatever reason, Kip wasn’t prepared for this to escalate so quickly. He’s panicking, and probability is high that he could try to bolt or shove Peterson away. Or faint, I suppose, guessing from the pale coloring of his face. I’d like to intervene, to knock Peterson back and pull Kip behind me, but there’s no way to do that without embarrassing Zeke.

I hear Zeke getting to his feet and moving closer. To reassure Kip? If that’s the plan, it’s not working. I hear Kip take a startled breath as Peterson cups his face more firmly. Panic is setting in and I can see Kip’s arms come up, readying to shove Peterson away and bolt. I can’t let that happen. Zeke will have to punish Kip for such an infraction, and Kip can’t handle discipline at the best of times, let alone a high-tension situation like this. It could be catastrophic. If Zeke fires the chip, it could kill him.

I throw my shoulder into Kip, knocking him out of Peterson’s hands and sprawling to the floor. He lets out a startled noise as he falls, catching himself on his hands but still landing hard. Peterson steps back, his hands raised defensively. I force myself to look only at Kip, to pin him with an angry glare that’s all for show. It has to look like I was acting aggressively toward Kip and not aggressively toward Peterson.

"Zero!" Master growls as he moves into the space that Peterson previously occupied. I turn my face to him as he raises his hand, broadcasting his intent to hit me. He knows that I'm a trained fighter, knows that I'll see the move even in the brief instant I have before the strike. There's warning enough for me to dodge out of the way, if I wanted, or even to pull back and lessen the impact of the blow. I do neither, and the impact of the back of Master's hand across my cheek sends me sprawling to the floor next to Kip. I feel the skin on my face heat immediately, know that there will at least be a bruise there. There’s a hint of the coppery taste of blood in my mouth, and I flick my tongue out to feel the edges of a small cut at the corner of my lip. Nothing broken, though. It’s a hit that I could easily shrug off, but I remain on the floor, trying to look cowed.

There's a moment of silence. I dare a glance at Zeke's eyes and find true anger there, but still the ever-present concern behind it. He's not happy that I forced his hand, but we both know that he can play this better than if Kip had panicked and acted out.

"My apologies," Master says, turning to Peterson. "I told you that Zero is a bit hard to control. He tends to get jealous if my other asset is getting too much attention."

"You've got a real spitfire on your hands," Peterson admits, but his eyes are now pinned to me, shining with lascivious interest. He likes the idea that I’m wild and powerful, that my aggression is just barely leashed. I have his attention now. No doubt, he’s wondering what it would be like to fuck me.

“Indeed. Still, I apologize. I haven’t had him in public very often. He’s still adjusting to his new status.”

“He used to be a soldier, it’s no wonder he’s more aggressive than your average pleasure asset,” Peterson speculates. “It’s a shame you can’t just keep him as a combat asset. All that talent, all that strength. It’d be disappointing to see it atrophy as a bedslave.”

He’s probing Zeke for some reasoning behind my category change, and perhaps even trying to incite another aggressive response from me. I keep my eyes lowered, my face hard and unreadable. It’s in Zeke’s hands now to mitigate the situation and choose how he wants this interpreted.

“I don’t know,” Master sighs, picking up his bourbon again, feigning frustration. “I can hardly keep him tame as it is. I don’t think it’d be good for his attitude if I let him fight again.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Peterson says contemplatively. “Still, it’s a lot of talent to waste if you can get him under control. Half the problem with zeros is their unpredictability. You never know when they’re going to disobey orders. But as fighters, they were among the best.”

“I’ve been told that they make amazing fighters, but certainly he’s wasted there,” Master says, and gestures for me to stand. “I mean, just look at that body. Tight, lithe, compact. Durable,” he adds with a half smile. “That body was designed for pleasure.”

“It certainly seems that way,” I hear Peterson say as I get to my feet. He’s in my space again, looming over me. I can sense his lust on some primal, instinctual level. “Will he let me kiss him?” Peterson asks, and I’m only surprised that he asked Master for permission. I could see the question coming before I even stood up. “I mean, is it safe to try?”

“Yes,” Master Zeke says. “He won’t harm another owner. Assets don’t have the same protection, unfortunately, but you’re perfectly safe.”

His hands are on my shoulders then, too heavy and with his fingers digging into my skin. I could shrug them off, but I’ve already pushed my boundaries for tonight. Any other show of willfulness would reflect badly on Master Zeke. I keep my eyes open as one of Peterson’s hands moves to my chin and tips my face, his thumb brushing along my lower lip and coming back stained with red.

“You certainly take your discipline seriously,” Peterson comments, and then wipes a streak of blood from my cheek with the back of his hand. “Good thing I don’t mind a slave that’s been worked over.”

His lips are on mine, then. There’s no warning, no slow start to the contact. His face is pressed against mine, his breath brushing across my cheek. I move my lips against his trying to imitate the lessons I’ve been taught. It’s difficult. I feel nothing but disdain for this man. I’d prefer to see him bleeding out at my feet than let him put his hands on me. But Master Zeke has allowed this thing, so I must obey.

I steal a half-lidded glance toward my Master. He’s watching avidly, perched on the side of his seat. This is the first time he’s allowed another owner such liberties with me. Is he afraid that I’ll attack? Or is he ensuring that I perform to his standards? I don’t know. I don’t understand what Master Zeke wants or why he feels the need to hide it from me. I do know that Zeke has shown me more kindness and consideration than any other person in my life. I know that Zeke is the only semblance of protection I have. And I know that Master is the only thing keeping Kiplan from being slaughtered for parts and experiments. So I’ll do my best to appease my Owner, knowing that I have no other real option.

Peterson’s tongue slips across my bottom lip and I open my mouth. His tongue pushes inside and I’m immediately assailed by the bitter taste of alcohol. He moves closer, pressing my body against the line of his, and I have to tilt my head to keep meeting the kiss. His hands slide along my sides, running over my exposed skin. I can feel his erection pressing against my hip. His hands dip to the top of my shorts, sliding under the band. My hole is lubed and stretched, but the idea of letting this man stick his cock in me is revolting. I suppose it’s something I’ll just have to get used to.

Strong hands descend on my shoulders. I find myself pulled from Peterson’s grip, pressing back against a familiar chest, wrapped in protective arms.

“That’s enough for a taste, don’t you think?” Master says to Peterson, who gapes for only a moment before blushing.

“I seem to have gotten carried away,” he admits. “I apologize. He’s actually very sweet, despite the aggressive packaging.”

The aggressive packaging is what made you interested in the first place, I want to snap. I hold my tongue, though. Master’s form at my back is a comforting presence, and I try not to notice the lingering taste of bitter liquor in my mouth.

“No harm done,” Master Zeke assures, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

“I’d pay a pretty penny to have something like that in my bed,” Peterson offers. “But then, I don’t suppose you’re ready to part with him yet.”

“No. Despite the trouble he causes me, I’m very attached to him. Call me sentimental, but he is my first asset.”

“I can’t blame you.” Peterson looks pointedly at his watch and says, “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t hold you up much longer. But before I send you out, I wanted to give you an idea of what to expect in my club.”

“Yes, I was hoping you would,” Master says, and moves away from me to join Peterson in the sitting area. I back away unobtrusively and join Kip, who is standing against the wall. I give Kip a quick once-over as I step beside him, and he looks unharmed. He casts me a sharp glare, but I was expecting that. Kip hates when I put myself in danger to protect him, so I expected his anger. I know that it comes from his concern for me, so I don’t take it seriously. Kip doesn’t understand that I can take more damage than he can. For some reason, he won’t grasp that I’m the obvious choice for dangerous tasks. I’m simply better designed for it.

“It’s fairly simple. The club is set up with six stages, each with a wide range of equipment. Can I assume you’ve had some experience in bondage and discipline?” Master gives a curt nod. “I expected as much. So, it’s very simple. The stages are open for anyone to perform on. You take an asset onto the stage and give a show. If the audience likes it, they’ll make donations to your key. They may even send you requests. The point is, these stages are an excellent way to get some exposure and show the others how you handle yourself.”

His gaze comes back to me, and his eyes lock with mine for a moment before I manage to drop my gaze.

“I’m sure your zero will get you noticed,” Peterson continues. “More so if you allow others to use him or make use of him in front of them. If you’re looking to compete this year, now would be a good time to make some friends in the different disciplines. That’s where you’ll find tips and tricks for training, along with assets who are already partially trained. Have you decided which categories you’re going to enter?”

“I haven’t given it much thought,” Master replies. I remember from their conversation at Red Seven that Peterson suggested only entering one or two categories. I’m not sure if Master plans to follow that advice, or if he knows that he’s entering all the categories and this is just another of his misdirections.

“Well, whatever you decide, you’ve found an opportune time to try it. This is something of the peak social season. Right now, all the owners are looking to socialize, make deals, and trade assets. So go down to the floor, put on a show, and get noticed. It won’t be hard, not with your looks and that zero of yours. You’re bound to get plenty of invitations sent to you. Most of the Owners will be hosting at least one gathering during this season, although you won’t be expected to host as this is your first year.”

“I see. And what generally happens at these parties?”

“Oh,” he says with a sly smile. “Everything you’d expect. Alcohol, drugs, sex, along with some of the kinkier stuff. Gambling is pretty common, along with displays of sadism. But it’s where a lot of the training happens, where you’ll make alliance and cut deals to get more competitive. Don’t underestimate the social aspect of this. After all, at the roots we’re really just a secret society, aren’t we?”

“I suppose so,” Master says with a small smile, then gets to his feet. Peterson rises as well and they shake hands. “Will you be on the floor tonight watching the shows?”

“I usually am,” Peterson says. “I don’t catch all of them, but I’m sure I can take a moment to watch your performance.”

Kip and I follow as Master moves past us. He turns back to Peterson one last time before leading us out of the room.

“If you watch us perform later, I can promise you that Zero will be making amends for his earlier behavior. It should prove to be a very interesting show.”


	2. Take the Stage - Zero POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I guess Sunday is going to be my official posting day (it just seems to have fallen into place there.) It has been a super-busy week for me, thankfully I'm still a few chapters ahead of you guys, but I am going to try writing more this evening. I am totally overwhelmed by the amount of welcome-back comments I got! Thank you so much! Please continue to let me know what you think - this is gonna be a rougher chapter. I think we all knew that this would start to take darker turns now that Zeke is getting deeper into the Leash society. If not... Heads up, lol. 
> 
> Once again, all the thanks to my beta team: Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways. They have helped me out so much and I appreciate all that they do. You guys rock!

Out on the floor of the dance club, it’s all chrome and leather. The club is a circle, with the six stages set up in the center and bars set up along the outside wall. The center section is dotted with tables and couches. There’s dim lighting in most of the club, although some of the tables by the bar are better lit. I can see owners congregating at those tables, their assets kneeling on the floor behind them. As we pass by, I see several of them glance up to look at me.

There’s an asset working the bar who bows nervously when Master approaches. All of the assets serving here tonight are shirtless and dressed only in black leather pants, with black collars around their necks. I’m not sure Owner Peterson is actually the master to all of them. I know some assets are owned by the Leash itself and rented out. It could be either. Master gives a polite smile to the asset and asks for a room to freshen up in. The asset points Master down a nearby hallway, and Kip and I follow closely behind as Master unhesitantly walks through the wide corridor. 

The hallway leads to a set of doors, likely each containing the same kind of room we enter. Zeke picks the first door, and inside we find a fairly spacious bathroom. It’s certainly nicer than what I would expect from a BDSM bar. The room is large, with a couch and a long sink. The dark colors still prevail, with the couch being black and the sink being a gray granite, but the chrome is tastefully absent. The toilet is hidden behind a dividing wall, and there’s a shower stall beside it. Along the sink, there’s a shelf with clean towels on the top shelf. On the next shelf, there’s antiseptic and bandages, and on the third shelf there’s bottles of water and crackers. Looking at it, I realize that these rooms must be where the owners bring their assets after they’ve been on stage.

“Come here,” Master says, and he pulls my arm until I’m standing along the sink. He grabs a washcloth from the shelf and wets it. He uses it to dab at my face.

“You’ve made a mess of yourself,” he says, and his voice is angry but calm. “You’ve got a smear of blood down your chin, and I haven’t even taken you on stage yet.”

He cleans the blood off of my face, poking just once at the cut on my lip. It’s already scabbed over, and I glance in the mirror to see that it’s a tiny thing, a dot of red at the corner of my mouth. When I turn back, Master leans in and gives me a gentle kiss. When the kiss breaks, he whispers in my ear, “That was reckless. Don’t do it again.” And then he pulls back. I nod once, knowing that we’re likely being monitored even in here.

Master steps away, and Kip pushes himself into my arms.

“Stupid,” he growls, and it’s too loud so I pull him in close and kiss him.

“Sorry,” I reply, and I make sure it’s loud enough to be picked up. “I shouldn’t have been so jealous.”

Kip gives me a flat look, but at least he doesn’t respond. I let him slip from my arms although I’d prefer to keep him there, but it’s too dangerous to be so affectionate with each other here. It’s enough that Zeke doesn’t set boundaries on our interaction on his ship, but we can’t be seen as undisciplined.

Master takes one of our hands in each of his and laces the fingers together. He looks us each in the eye, first me and then Kiplan. The prolonged contact is to remind us of our training, of the trust that Zeke needs us to show him. My rash actions have complicated things for him, made his already-tenuous position more unstable. He’ll have to do something to make up for it. Zeke doesn’t let the contact linger, can’t be caught showing us too much public affection. It’s all the respite from tonight that we’ll get, and Master turns immediately to the door. I let my fingers brush one last time over the back of Kip’s hand, reassuring him that I will be there to protect him, and then leave the room as well. Kip follows just a moment behind me.

As Master leads the way back to the floor, we fall into step behind him. I position myself in the center of our line, equal distance from Master and Kip, so that I can keep an eye on both of them. It’s easier with Kip, who keeps his head slightly bowed as he walks and is ignored by almost everyone. Master Zeke, however, catches eyes just by walking through the room. Both owners and assets alike pause to glance his way, and even I’m not fast enough to judge each expression and intention. It doesn’t help that I’m getting open-mouthed looks myself, and that I have to keep my head steady, scanning the crowd with only my eyes. Some residual habits from my time as a combat asset are to be expected, Master says, but I can’t appear that I’m actively protecting Zeke. My role is now to pleasure, not to protect.

I wish he could tell that to my instincts, though, because all of these potential threats are making me tense when I should appear calm and relaxed. I try to push the tension out of my shoulders, confident that my face shows a neutral expression.

Master chooses a booth seat along the back. It faces the stage and has a small rectangular table in front of it, obviously so that the occupant can easily enjoy the show. The location is a good one – far enough from other owners to be safe but not anti-social, and the high-backed booth means that I only have to watch the sides and in front. Considering that Kip and I are expected to settle under the table at Master’s feet, it makes my job a lot easier. There’s carpeting on the floor under the table and the table itself is supported by a single stem running down the center, so it isn’t unpleasant to sit at Master’s feet. Still, I’d prefer to have a better vantage point.

The table in front of the booth has a glass top. I have to wonder – is it so owners can keep an eye on their assets? Or so assets can watch their owners for commands? But then Master settles in his seat, and the glass table above us starts displaying different screens. I realize that it’s displaying the feeds from the stages in the bar. Master hesitates a moment, then chooses one and enlarges it. From underneath, I can see the mirrored image.

There’s one stage directly in front of our table and two on either side that I can see in my peripheral vision. The stage to my left is dark, with no performers occupying it. The one to my right has a brown-haired asset strapped face-down to a bench, being taken by a larger, black-haired asset. There’s a female owner standing close to the stage, probably the master of the two performers. I can see a crop in her hand, crisscrossing lines across the smaller asset’s back.

On the stage in front of us, a sandy-blonde haired slave hangs by his wrists, facing away from us. He’s being flogged inexpertly by an owner who misses more than he hits and has drawn blood from several places where his flogger hit too hard and broke the skin. The man is facing away from the audience, but two cameras hover around him. The cameras are white and fist-sized, with a single black lens. They circle the two performers like planets in orbit, sometimes moving and sometimes hovering still. On the mirrored glass above me, I see one screen showing his face while the other gives a closer view of the lashes hitting his skin. Master orders a martini and sips it casually. I count nearly thirty minutes while Master watches the man be alternately flogged and teased into arousal by his owner. Master Zeke frowns when the asset shrieks in pain, a particularly hard blow setting three bleeding stripes across his lower back.

“Dreadful, isn’t it?” comes a casual female voice. I had seen her approach slowly along the edge of my vision, but disregarded her as non-threatening. Now I give her a second glance, but her posture is relaxed and her tone casual. There’s a single slave trailing her, a slim brunette with his head down and his hands clasped behind him. The woman is slim and fair, with golden ringlets hanging around her face. She’s in a red dress that’s longer in the back than the front, with skintight black pants beneath it. It reminds me of an equestrian outfit. She seems close to Zeke’s age, although her dark makeup makes it hard to tell. She has a silver chain looped between her fingers and attached to her slave’s collar. It looks more like jewelry than an actual restraint, though, and I doubt it would hold the slim man if he tried to get away. But then, it’s only there to emphasize his chains, which are much stronger and unseen.

Zeke, if he had been surprised to see her approach, covers it with an easy smile and stands to shake her hand.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate. I know he’s trying to fit in here, and I have to wonder if he’s leaving it open to fish for information. If he commits to a reason that the display is dreadful that’s different from this woman’s, then he risks alienating her as a potential ally.

Or perhaps I’m just over thinking the situation.

“Would you care to sit, miss…?”

“Empire. Magdelene Empire.”

“Ezekial Price. A pleasure to meet you.”

There’s another strike, and the asset on the stage shrieks loud enough that both owners glance that way.

“If you’re going to use a weapon like that, you should hit your target every time with the pressure you intend. Nothing makes me sicker than seeing a weapon badly used. And the asset is wasted like this, he’ll hardly be worth anything with those scars.”

“I wholeheartedly agree. Although I’m not as set against scarring an asset as you are,” he says and nods toward me.

“I suppose battle scars are different,” she says, and I feel her eyes linger on me through the glass even as I lower my head. I don’t like the fact that they’re both standing while Kip and I are kneeling, but at least we have the cover of the table. I’d feel better if it weren’t transparent, though. “You have eclectic tastes in pleasure slaves. Just these two?”

“For now,” Master responds.

“You’re new here, aren’t you? I wouldn’t forget a handsome face like that,” she says with a flirty smile. Master smiles and gestures to the table.

“Would you care to sit?” he asks.

The woman slides into the booth and the brunette asset slips gracefully beneath the table with us, his leash still trailing from his owner’s fingers. He’s wearing red shorts in the same color as his owner’s dress. There are hints of makeup on his face similar to what Kiplan’s wearing, and his ears are pierced with onyx hoops. He smiles shyly as he kneels at his owner’s feet. Kiplan gives him a reassuring smile in return, while I glance him over for weapons. The earrings don’t pose much of a threat, and he doesn’t have much clothing to hide anything else in. There could be a weapon in his owner’s dress, but his hands are folded in front of him, so it would take him a second to reach for anything she might be concealing. His body is slim and soft, so it doesn’t look like he’s much of a fighter. I keep an eye on him and turn my attention back to what Master Zeke is saying to this woman.

“Forgive me for being forward, but are you the same Magdelene who’s running the Empire Clothing corporation now?”

“Oh sweetie, I could forgive you almost anything,” she flirts. I see Master shift closer, like he’s falling for her blatant behavior. He’s smarter than that, isn’t he? “But yes, I’ve been running the company for several years now. I’m finally managing to pull it out of the red, thanks in great part to what you see before you. I supply owner and asset clothing lines, all while billing it as discrete suits and accessories.” Her eyes glance back down at Kip and me. “I’d love to set your boys up with a few outfits.” Then her eyes rake over Master’s form. “And, of course, I’d love to get you out of those clothes as well.”

It’s so blatant that I have to fight not to roll my eyes. Not that I think she’d notice, with all her attention focused on Zeke.

“I think something could be arranged,” Master replies, flirting still without committing to anything.

“You know, I’m surprised I haven’t seen you here before,” Magdelene comments thoughtfully. “The Price family has such a long history of influence and power. The Leash would help to expand that power and refine the influence.”

“I suppose I can only say that my presence here isn’t about business,” Master responds, then lowers the timbre of his voice, “it’s about pleasure.”

She laughs, and she’s too mature for it to be a giggle but she makes the attempt. I see her lean closer to Zeke and I tense, but she pulls out her Key from a hidden pocket. I know that the Key is a completely secure communication device exclusive to Leash participants, and that transfer of data can be completed by touching them together. Basically, she’s giving him her number.

“There are only boys available as assets, so when you get in the mood for some curves, you send me a message,” she says flirtatiously. Then she rises and her asset scrambles to move gracefully out from under the table. Zeke rises politely as she leaves. When she’s gone, he sits back down. If I weren’t so close at his feet, I would have missed the relieved sigh that he gives.

Zeke waits several more minutes, but Magdelene is the only owner who approaches. I see Master fidget uncertainly, then he finally motions to one of the nearby servers. When the asset approaches, Master asks in a low voice, “Can I get the stage next?”

“Yes, sir,” the asset responds. “If you’ll follow me?”

Master rises immediately and follows, trusting Kip and I to trail him. We try to get out from under the table gracefully, but Kip stumbles as he’s standing. I know the other owners catch it, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Master pretends not to see it, although I doubt that’s true. I keep one eye on Kip as we move, but the only sign of his falter is the blush that steals across his face. I breathe a sigh of relief as we round the corner backstage, but the relief is short-lived.

We’re not the only people awaiting a turn to perform. Just as the bar area is set up as a circle, the stages are as well. The backstage is like the inside of a loop, with a line of couches running directly down the center. There are four other owners sitting down, presumably waiting for the more popular stages to open. The stages themselves are blocked by walls and curtains, with the entrance to the stage as an opening with a stage number above it. Beyond the four owners sitting on the couches, there are three more looking over racks of gear that are displayed between the stage entrances. There are twelve assets sitting on the floor or standing behind their owners, along with ten domestics in the leather pants uniform of the bar waiting along the walls for commands. Plus the one who led us inside.

“Stages four and seven are designated for anything messy tonight,” the asset explains. “Stage nine is sex only and stage eleven is no sex. The others are approved for any kind of show you would like to perform. The assets in this room are here for your assistance, as well as any of the tools you see on the walls. Before the set, the assets will clean the stage and arrange it to your specifications. Did you have a stage preference?”

Master glances in the direction we came from, his eyes calculating. He settles on the stage we’d been on the other side of prior to entering the backstage area.

“Stage two would be preferred.”

“That one is popular tonight. There’s already another owner waiting.”

“It’s alright,” interjects another male voice. “Let him have it. I only came back here because there wasn’t anything good to watch.”

The man stands from the couch and approaches at a leisurely pace. He’s in a white business suite trailing three pleasure assets. His dark hair is combed back, brown eyes holding a lazy intelligence, like a big cat. The way he saunters toward Zeke reminds me of a tiger, stalking offhandedly because it’s second nature, not because of any intention to hunt. The three assets behind him are varied in size and complexion. There’s a small blonde that looks similar to Kip but with tight curls. The other two assets are brunet, one slim and pale, the other taller and more muscular.

“Dillon Arcrest,” he introduces himself and reaches out for Master’s hand. I tense behind Master, but can’t intervene. Master returns the handshake without hesitation.

“Ezekiel Price,” Master answers. “I’d hate to put you to any inconvenience.”

“Just give me a good show.” His eyes slip to me. “I’d like to see what you’re planning for that one. He seems spirited.”

“He’s got some bite in him, but I keep him on a short leash.”

“I should hope so,” Arcrest says, his eyes straying from me back to Master. “I’m intrigued. And it seems that you’ve granted this one,” he gestures to the blond asset behind him, who flinches and ducks his head, “a bit of a reprieve, since I wouldn’t want to miss your show. You’ll make it worth my time, won’t you?”

“I’ll endeavor to make it worth your while,” Zeke promises.

Arcrest nods once and leaves, trailing his three assets. The servant from earlier hasn’t been dismissed and Zeke gestures him back over.

“I’d like to see the large items you have for use. Assuming you can get them set up on the stage before my performance?”

“Of course, sir,” the asset says, “If you’ll follow me?”

The asset leads Zeke toward a curtained-off area of the room. Kip and I move to follow, but Master gestures for us to stop.

“Wait here for me,” he instructs with a gesture to the floor. I grind my teeth in frustration. Who knows what could be waiting back there? But he’s given me a direct instruction, so I have no choice but to sink to the floor next to Kip. I keep my eyes glued to the curtain, though, waiting for any sign of struggle. Kip runs his knuckles along my leg, trying to get me to relax, but I can’t let my guard down until Master returns unharmed several minutes later.

“They’re cleaning up the stage now, so we’ll be on in a few minutes,” Master says. He takes a seat on the couch closest to us, and we crawl over to kneel in front of him. He's still in his black, leather pants, but he’s undone several of the buttons on his shirt, exposing the length of his chest. The parted crimson fabric reveals a swath of milky white skin, and I have the irrational urge to close the buttons again. I’m sure Master was hoping for attention when he made this choice. My emotional reaction is naive and juvenile. Knowing that, however, doesn’t change how I feel. The emotion intensifies as I spot several other owners casting interested glances at Zeke.

“Kip,” Master says as he removes a small, white pill from his pocket. “I want you to take this.”

“Yes, sir,” Kip replies. He takes it unhesitatingly from Master’s palm and swallows it dry. I want to snarl, “What the hell was that?” but I know better than to show such temper in front of the other owners. Master explains anyway.

“That pill will take effect in about fifteen minutes or so. It’s to help you with nervousness on stage. We’ll be performing what we practiced.”

Which means Kip will be fucking me tonight, and the pill is something to help him maintain an erection. It’s a good idea, and an issue that I hadn’t considered. I wonder if Master brought the pill with him, or if it’s something they had on hand here. Either option is possible, erectile drugs are not difficult to get if you have the money to pay for them.

“When you’re not performing, you will stand along the back with your head down and your hands crossed behind your back. You will help Zero with getting into and out of restraints. You will not speak unless commanded to. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master,” Kip responds. Then Zeke turns toward me.

“You will be doing the main performance tonight. You’ll simply need to follow my instructions. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” I respond. Master looks at me, hesitating, and then puts his hand on my head, gently stroking through my short hair. It’s an intimate gesture and he doesn’t let it linger, but it helps to settle me nonetheless. I wonder if he can tell how this crowd puts me on high alert, how all my senses go into overdrive looking for threats. But we’re both restrained by our roles tonight, and so he says nothing else as he retracts his hand.

Only a moment later, one of the bar’s assets is coming up to Master demurely and letting him know that the stage is ready.

“Did you let James know that I’ll be performing?” Master asks.

“Yes, sir. Owner Peterson will be in the audience.”

“Very good,” Master says and dismisses the servant.

Zeke turns toward the stage, and the thought occurs to me that I haven’t asked him about my clothes. I’m not wearing much – just the simple black shorts and similar, plain black slippers – but I know he’ll need me naked at some point if I’m going to be fucked. I suppress the urge to call out to him. Everything’s happening too quickly, and I’ve no idea what Master is planning. But it’s already too late to ask for instruction, so I try to trust that Zeke knows what he’s doing.

Zeke leads through the curtain, although I’d really prefer to have him further back in line when walking into an unknown situation, so I can push him out of the way if there’s danger. But a pleasure asset can’t lead his Master, so I trail behind Zeke and Kip trails behind me.

The lights of the stage are almost blinding. I try to keep my head down, but I can feel eyes from every direction. Not to mention the hovering cameras that circle us. On a platform like this, I’m an open target. Kip pauses along the back wall like he was told, but Master leads me into the center of the stage. I’m totally exposed there. I pass furniture as I move to the center of the stage, and everything in me screams to lunge for cover and to drag Master with me. My eyes darts across the front row, but I can’t see anything except dark shadows in the crowd. I wouldn’t know if someone had a pulse gun or a bomb, for all I can see of them. My eyes dart back to the nearest furniture – something that looks like a vaulting bench, long and covered in padding. It’s big enough to cover me and Zeke. If I could find something to use as a distraction so we can bolt back to the stage entrance…

Master snaps his fingers in front of my face. My eyes jump to his, cold and calm blue ones staring back at me. He’s turned in my direction, putting his back to the audience. I want to yell at him, to tell him that’s a stupid move with so many potential hostiles in the room. But I’m not his guardian. I’m not here to protect him, I’m here to serve him.

“Focus on me,” he says gently. I nod once, and then he turns back to the crowd.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I came here tonight planning to simply watch, but what can I say? I suppose I’m not much of a spectator at heart.”

There are a couple murmured chuckles from the crowd. It’s a blatant lie, but I’m coming to understand that Zeke is good at that. We’ve been training for tonight all week under the assumption that we would be doing our first performance.

“The performer tonight will be Zero.” Zeke pauses as another murmur goes through the crowd. “I’ll be punishing him for an act of considerable willfulness earlier. But first, I’d like to demonstrate how well trained he is, despite his manners. Zero,” he instructs, loud enough for the audience to hear, “on the cross.”

I nod and turn. Now that I’m calmer, I cast my eyes quickly over the stage. There are four pieces of furniture: a low table holding several pieces of gear, a sturdy-looking steel chair, the padded bench I noticed earlier, and a steel X-shaped cross with manacle restraints at the wrists and ankles. That’s where Zeke wants me.

I put myself on the X and wait while Kip buckles my restraints. I put my face toward the audience without thinking about it, but Master doesn’t correct me. There are steel manacles at the wrists and ankles, both on a pivot to allow slightly more range of movement. I turn my arm and find that I am limited in the movement only by the range of my shoulder. There’s similar leeway in the ankle restraints. But what’s the point of that? Adjusting for different heights, possibly? But it seems odd for Zeke to choose something like this when he had time to adjust another piece to my size.

I expect Zeke to go for the implements next, but he takes a few quiet seconds to stare at me. We make eye contact, and again I feel him trying to push calmness and reassurance at me. Those eyes are like a placid pool, and I wish I could make myself feel as tranquil.

“Zero,” Zeke says finally, his voice sharp and loud enough to broadcast to the audience, “Come here.”

For an instant, I feel panic. Come here? But he just tied me down. I’d have to…

I’d have to break my restraints.

Suddenly, everything starts clicking into place. My thoughts are rapid fire and smooth, and I am a combat asset again. My mind settles. The weak point on the restraints is the pivot. That’s why Zeke chose this particular piece. I can pull my arms free. My legs will have to be done by hand, as I don’t have the leverage to break them without also breaking my shins. But the arms are doable, although it won’t be easy.

I pull on the restraints and feel the metal bite into my skin. The manacles weren’t designed for assets who truly want to get free. I add pressure, but it’s still steel. It holds, the metal groaning behind me. I pull harder, and it shrieks. I wonder if Zeke knew this would happen. Was he hoping for this effect?

I pull harder, and for a moment it does nothing. I’m pulling against solid metal formed into a structure that I know very little about. What if the metal’s tolerance is higher than I think? What if its breaking point is beyond my strength? I have an instant where my mind tries to come up with a contingency plan. I twist my wrists, feeling the metal bite into the tender flesh as I stress the metal from a different angle. There’s another shriek from the structure behind me and a searing pain in my wrists, then the metal gives with a crack like a gunshot.

I fall forward, only my still-bound ankles keeping me from stumbling. I use the movement to bend in half, trying to make it look like I intended the action as I release the cuffs on my ankles. There’s a heavy weight around my wrists, and I notice that the cuffs snapped behind the manacles, so they’re still dangling from my wrists like knife-edged bracelets. I leave them be, uncertain if Master will want to remove them himself. As I turn, I become aware of a steady drip of blood falling down my hand. I must have torn skin while breaking my restraints. I’m unsurprised, given the position I was locked in. The rest of the skin below is likely to be a motley of bruises.

I step away from the structure, coming to stop in front of Master Zeke. My hands are loose and at my sides, my chest still heaving from the exertion. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on my skin, and I feel almost lightheaded with adrenaline. Zeke lets me stand like that for several seconds, until my breathing slows and I lower my eyes to the floor.

“Good,” Master praises loudly, then in a softer voice, “Lose the shoes and shorts. Stand at attention, facing away, hands behind your head.”

I kick the few items I’m wearing off and Kip scurries to collect them, setting them along the far wall before resuming his station. I don’t feel nudity as others do. I’m aware that I’m just as exposed to danger with the shorts as without. In my bare feet, I have a much better grip on the floor than in the plastic-soled slippers. I put myself in a wide-legged stance, my still-manacled hands clasped behind my head. The manacles bang against each other as I lace my fingers, but I ignore it. I feel another sharp spike of anxiety as I put my back to Master Zeke. It doesn’t take a genius to know what’s coming next.

There’s a crack over my shoulder that sounds like someone snapping a piece of wood. I don’t flinch, but it’s a near thing. I’m not familiar with whips, not accustomed to the sound they make. I know they’re a weapon that can do significant damage, but they’re not immediately deadly. The weapons that I’ve been exposed to are lethal, with little else to speak for them. This one seems more like an art than a utensil. I can only hope Master is skilled enough to keep from damaging me.

“Five strikes for being insolent earlier and five more for embarrassing me in public. Prepare yourself,” Zeke warns. I tense my shoulders, hearing an almost immediate hiss of the whip. Then there’s the sound of rope hitting flesh and searing pain crosses along my lower back. I grit my teeth, but barely have time to take a second breath before there’s another pain lancing across my shoulder blades. Another hiss, and a third strike lands diagonally across my back. I gasp for air, struggling not to fall forward, and another hit strikes me in the opposite direction. The place where the two lines of pain cross in an X becomes a focal point for my pain, and I take a shuddering breath as the fifth hit strikes a line across the center of that target, sending a bolt of white-hot agony down my spine. My back arches in pain, an involuntary motion that I’ve no control over, but I manage to keep my feet planted.

If Master hadn’t paused then, I probably would have fallen at the next hit. Between the agony and adrenaline, I’m practically shaking. Tying me down would have been kinder, so that at least I wouldn’t have to hold myself still. But this isn’t about being kind, it’s about showing the other owners Zeke’s skill.

I have a minute where Zeke pauses and I struggle to catch my breath. I can feel the eyes of the audience on me, feel Zeke’s gaze on me, but I ignore it. The pain in my back fades down to a searing burn, but it’s more tolerable than the white-hot agony. I spare a glance from the corner of my eye at Kip, who’s along the back curtain with his head down, his face pale. He hates to see me hurt. But I can’t worry about him right now. I have to focus on getting myself under control. I can’t fail Zeke again.

As much as I understand that this isn’t the punishment Zeke claims it is, I also know that the suffering I’m experiencing is at least partially a result of my behavior in front of Owner Peterson. For whatever reason, Master Zeke values the opinion of these people. He needs to make a name for himself here. By protecting Kip, I put his reputation in danger, and this is how he keeps from losing face. My suffering is an unfortunate by-product.

At least, I hope it is.

There’s another strike then, this one almost leisurely along the outside of my thigh. I wince, but I’m grateful that he’s shifted targets. Another along the other thigh, so that I’ll have matching welts. Two more crisscross my ass, but these strike sting more than they burn. The fire only kisses my skin, so the hits must have been lighter.

There’s a pause before the final strike. I know Zeke well enough to expect a harder hit, but there’s no way to prepare or defend myself. I don’t know that I could have readied myself for it anyway, given any length of time. The whip snaps, catching me across the center of my back, just below my shoulder blades. The impact is hard, like someone hit me with a bat. Shoves me forward, hard enough to send me crashing to my knees. The pain hits an instant later, and I realize that he’s caught me in center of the other lashes. I open my mouth, panting to keep from screaming. Adrenaline overwhelms my brain, like a siren shrieking in my head. I want to roll and protect my back, dodge behind the bench for cover. But I keep myself still, my muscles shrieking with exertion and pain. It seems like ages before I can calm myself, before the tide of adrenaline recedes and my endorphins dampen the pain. When I finally become aware of my surroundings, I’m panting in sobbing breaths without actually crying. Master is standing over me, his back to the audience, his blue eyes watching me carefully. I meet his gaze for an instant, give him the barest of nods, and then lower my head again.

He turns on his heel, addressing the audience. I can barely hear his words, but there’s a round of applause from the audience. It makes me feel sick to think I satisfied their basest desires, even as I can’t help feeling a surge of pride. Master Zeke needed me to do this, and I succeeded. I need to focus on that, not on the attention of the owners who would just as easily use me the same way and then throw me away. Master Zeke won’t do that. He won’t.


	3. Performance - Zero POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sick, I didn't realize it was Sunday. Sorry about that. Please send comments in lieu of get well cards. Lol! (But comments are appreciated, of course.) 
> 
> Once again, all the thanks to my beta team: Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways. They have helped me out so much and I appreciate all that they do. You guys rock!

We’re not done with our show. Consciously, I know this, but somehow it still surprises me when Zeke orders me to my feet. “Up, Zero,” he says firmly, and I know I have no choice but to obey. I push myself to stand, fighting not to stumble. The pain in my back is still present, but fading quickly as endorphins and adrenaline surge through me. I feel shaky and lightheaded, but not close to passing out. I keep my hands at my side as Master orders me to turn, putting my back to the audience. I feel his hands flutter just inches from my burning skin. I can hear him talking to the audience, but I tune out the exact words. I don’t have the energy to follow them. Finally, he orders me to the bench.    


I knew it was coming, but it still makes me cringe inside. This will be the first time I’m show in public… for sexual purposes. Before now, sex has been a safe, private act, with Master Zeke guiding me carefully and excruciatingly slowly. Now, I feel raw and vulnerable, half from the punishment I’ve just taken and half from the ravenous audience watching from below. Why do I feel so surprised, when I knew this was planned all along? But I do feel an unexpected level of anxiety at Master’s order, so much that my feet balk as I approach the bench. I force myself forward, aware that revealing uncertainty now would be disastrous for Master Zeke. There’s a circular platform under the bench, and taking that first step up seems like the highest climb I’ve ever made. Then I’m standing over the simple piece of equipment, forcing myself to lie over it.    


The leather of the bench is soft and smooth beneath me, but it feels irritatingly sticky against my overheated skin. At least it holds some of my weight, easing the shaking that overcame me when I forced my body to stand. It’s set exactly at the height of my hips, putting my ass on display. There are no restraints on this bench, but Master points out handles along the side that I can grip. I take a white-knuckled hold of them, keeping myself on the bench by will alone. I just want to hide and lick my wounds, but Master isn’t done with me yet.    


My side is to the audience at first, showing only my profile. The cameras are still here, of course, hovering at a distance where they won’t get in the way. I ignore them, having no other option. Master approaches and I hear a click, then suddenly my platform is turning slowly. It stops when my back is to the audience, giving them all a perfect view of my ass. I shudder, feeling over-exposed, but again I should have expected this. The cameras circle closer, and I feel almost violated by their smothering presence. I’ve never been shy about being naked in public before, but somehow it feels different when all the eyes are on me. It’s invasive, like my skin is suddenly too thin and they can see inside me. At least I’m facing away from the audience, so I don’t have to constantly scan the crowd for threats. Master moves closer, but instead of feeling relieved, I feel my anxiety spike as he prepares to start. Feeling cold dread settle in my stomach, I let my eyes fall closed.    


Master stands beside me so that he doesn’t block the audience’s view. He gives no preamble as he shoves his finger into my hole, but it isn’t violent, either. His finger is slick with lube, and my hole it still stretched from preparations before we arrived. He circles the digit inside me once, then pulls out and plunges back in with two. I huff out a breath, trying not to tighten around the sudden intrusion. Master stills his finger for a moment, then spreads them. I feel the skin of my hole stretch, feel it gape around Master’s digits. There’s an appreciative murmur from the crowd. I open my eyes just in time to see one of the cameras disappear around my side. I tense reflexively, knowing that the camera is giving them a closeup view of my stretched entrance. The other one floats down to my face and I shoot it a glare. From behind me, I hear chuckles from the audience.   


Master’s fingers relax and the stretched feeling disappears from my ass. His fingers pull out slowly, then thrust back in. It happens again, and then there’s a third finger joining them. The stretched feeling returns as I struggle to accept the slow fucking from three fingers. I shift on the bench, feeling the first stirring of arousal, tempered by the soreness in my back and the anxiety from being watched. My cock is trapped beneath me, my testicles exposed by my spread legs, and I feel Master’s other hand dip between my legs to cup my balls. He rolls them gently in his fingers, pulling on them until it’s almost painful, then dropping them so that they thump against the side of the bench. Still his finger thrust into my ass, making me squirm with the mixed sensations. Pain from my back wars against the feeling of Master’s fingers stretching me, gliding in and out of my hole, until finally the pleasure wins out and my cock stirs against the fabric of the bench. It isn’t much, but I focus on that feeling, using it to block out the pain from my back and the cameras circling me.    


Master’s fingers are suddenly removed from my asshole, and I shudder at the empty feeling it gives me. My rim spasms, clenching against nothing as it struggles to adjust. It feels like my ass is gaping and I throw a glance over my shoulder, only see one of the cameras hovering at my hip. If it could, I think it would probably shove itself into my ass for a better view. Maybe it can. Maybe next time I’ll be fucked with the camera.    


Master sees me looking over my shoulder and snaps his fingers, pointing the other way with a frown. I lie back down, and the second camera is right in my face again. I manage not to glare at it this time, instead choosing to stare straight ahead and ignore it. It hovers next to my cheek anyway, and I struggle with the urge to bat it away.    


Master moves away from me then, retrieving something off of the table nearby. When he returns, he addresses the audience. I don’t dare to turn again, but I do cast a hateful glance at the camera watching my face. In the reflective lens, I can see Master holding up a plug to the audience. It has a wide base, circular and smaller than a fist. What surprises me is that it’s crystal clear glass, and I have to repress a shudder imaging what Master will reveal to the audience when he puts that inside me. I shut my eyes and grit my teeth, letting another wave of anxiety pass over me. It fades abruptly, and I think it’s probably more because of how quickly I’m tiring than because I’m okay with this.    


I let my eyes open and glance at the reflection in the camera again, which lets me see that Master has turned his attention back to me. I can’t see what he’s doing, though, so that’s all the warning I get before the plug is pushing its way inside me. I let out a startled gasp at the size of it, feeling my body stretched almost painfully wide, before my hole swallows it. Once the widest part is through, the plug nestles itself against my ass. It isn’t painful once it’s in, but I hate the thought that the audience can see inside me. I don’t know why. It’s not like I have anything to be ashamed of, or like my insides are different from any other asset’s. I just feel… exposed on a level I hadn’t anticipated. Master runs a gentle finger down my back and I flinch with the pain. My body tenses, and I feel my hole clench around the plug, trying to expel it from my body. It’s too large, though, and stays seated. Thankfully, that seems to be the reaction Master was looking for, because his hand moves away from my back and returns to my ass.    


Master doesn’t leave the plug alone once it’s seated. First he twists it, and the feel of the glass sliding along my insides makes me gasp. Then he pulls it, not enough to pull it out but enough that it feels like my rim is puckering with the effort to keep it inside. He moves it in a circle again, and the pulling and twisting motion sends a shock of pleasure through me. He must notice, because he repeats the motion before pushing the plug all the way in, then pulling it free with a pop. Again, I feel my hole gaping, struggling to adjust to the sudden lack of stretch.    


In a few seconds, when my hole is loose but back to normal proportions, I feel Master turning the platform again. Suddenly I’m facing the audience, or at least the dark shadows that I can see. Master snaps his fingers in front of me, and my eyes jump to his unforgiving expression.     


“This demonstration is a punishment,” Master says to me, but loudly enough for the audience to hear. “Earlier today, I watched you push my other slave out of jealousy. But Kiplan is my property, just as you are. So now, you’re going to be still while Kiplan fucks you, because you are mine and you obey my orders. Let this be a lesson to you in the future. I do not tolerate insubordination from my property.”   


He makes it sound like so much more of a punishment than it is, like I haven’t let Kip fuck me before. Like I didn’t consent and enjoy it last time. But this is the show he needs to give, so I nod my head reluctantly without actually feeling it. I see Master gesture and hear Kiplan approaching, the soft footfalls of his slippers echoing in the quiet room.    


There’s no preamble to Kip fucking me. I hear his footsteps stop and then the shift of fabric, then his cock is pressing against my hole. The pill must have been effective, because his cock feels almost as hard as the glass plug, although considerably smaller.  I feel Kip’s hands settle on my hips, carefully finding skin that isn’t marked by the whip. His hips stay a careful distance from my thighs, so his skin doesn’t brush the welts there. His cock slides easily into my stretched and lubed passage, giving me no time to adjust before he’s pulling out and thrusting back in. It seems like Kip just wants to get this over with as quickly as possible.    


Master’s fingers snap in front of my face, pulling my attention away from Kip. His face is still the hard mask of an owner. When he sees that he has my attention, he says, “I think you should apologize to Kip for your behavior earlier.”   


This isn’t something we’ve practiced and I’m taken by surprise. I mumble, “Sorry,” but it only makes Master frown. Behind me, Kip is still thrusting into my ass, hardly seeming aware of my words.    


“You can do better than that,” Master says. “Try again.”   


“I’m sorry I pushed you,” I say more clearly this time. “I was out of line. It won’t happen again.”   


Master nods in approval, then says, “And me? For making me go to all this effort to discipline you.”   


“I’m sorry, Master,” I say more easily this time. “My behavior was inexcusable. I’m sorry for making more work for you. It won’t happen again.”   


“I think I deserve more than an apology,” Master says slowly, his hand moving down his body to cup his erection through his pants. Damn, how did I miss that? Did he take one of the pills, like Kiplan did? Or is he simply turned on from playing with my body? Either way, it’s easy to see what he wants next. I open my mouth obligingly, understanding that I’m about to be fucked from both ends.    


Master steps back first, and does something I can’t see to make the platform spin. The movement makes Kip pause buried balls-deep in my ass, but he resumes once the spinning stops. Now the audience is to my side, so they can see me being taken from both ends. Master steps up onto the platform then, posing with his shoulders back and his golden hair swirling around his shoulders as he undoes the button of his pants with one hand. His chest is already exposed down to his navel, and he pops the button dramatically, exposing a fine line of golden hair at his groin. He shoves the zipper down and pulls out his cock, fully hard and with a bead of precome glistening at the crown. From the audience comes the sound of a few delighted chuckles and a couple gasps of surprise, then a small round of applause. Master rolls his eyes, but I can see the smug look of satisfaction on his face. Master Zeke likes the attention, likes having the lustful gaze of the audience on him.    


“Good,” I think silently. “Then let him get naked and fucked on stage.” But it doesn’t work like that and I know it.    


Master holds his cock with his hand and moves to stand in front of me. The bench is short, so I can reach his cock when he stands with his legs pressed against the edge of the bench. Keeping my hands at my sides, since they’re still manacled and slick with blood from my wrists, I poke my tongue out and lap the bead of come from his tip. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that damn camera moving into my space again, but I try to ignore it. I forget it entirely when Master cups my chin with his hand and feeds his cock down my throat by stepping forward. My airway is immediately blocked by his length and girth, but it doesn’t frighten me. I can hold my breath for several minutes, and I trust Zeke not to suffocate me. His length keeps coming, forcing its way down my throat until he’s fully seated in my mouth. His pubic hairs brush against my nose and I can smell the soap he uses in the shower. Memories of being held and pleasured and taken by this man overwhelm me, reminding me that this is all for show. I cling to the idea that this will all be over soon, that he’ll revert to his old attitude when we return to the ship. He gives several shallow thrusts and I squirm as his cock drags against the lining of my throat. Finally he pulls back, allowing me to take a wet, gasping breath.    


“Enough,” Master says sharply, and I’m stunned for a moment until I realize he isn’t talking to me. I feel Kiplan pull out of my ass and back away. I almost protest – he wasn’t finished, wasn’t even close to coming – until I realize how stupid I’m being. Of course Kip hasn’t come. This was never about his pleasure. It was supposed to be about my punishment, about showing me my place.    


Master’s cock buries itself in my ass so abruptly that I let out a grunt of surprise. I’d been so preoccupied with Kip that I hadn’t even seen him move. There’s no time to catch my breath, though, as Master pulls back and buries himself a second time, pushing deeper than first. His cock is massive. Although I’m accustomed to his size, I’m not used to being tense and nervous while we’re having sex. The stretch, which usually feels so good, is almost painful. My body clenches and I fight to relax, sending mixed signals to my muscles until they finally give up, too exhausted to fight.    


While I struggle, Master’s thrusts continue unrelenting. His hips smack against mine, irritating the reddened skin of my thighs. His balls slap against my own, which are exposed against the bench. Master’s hands hold my hips firmly, almost bruisingly, as he pounds into me. It feels like I can’t catch my breath, like there’s too little air in the room. Another camera circles to my face and I jerk away from it, startled by its presence. Master’s pace increases speed and I strain against the bench, fighting to keep myself from moving. My hole feels raw and irritated, over-sensitized and then used too hard. But I can feel Master’s orgasm approaching, so I clench my fists and lay still.    


At the last possible second, Master pulls his cock out of my body. His hot come splatters across my back and I give a startled cry of pain. The hot semen stings in the welts on my skin, irritating them more than the salt and sweat that’s already there. Master milks his cock with his hand, spilling a few more dribbles across my ass, and I hiss at the pain.     


But then it’s over. Master is putting his cock away and addressing the audience. I lay on the bench, unable to hear him over my own labored breaths. The come feels like acid in my wounds and I struggle not to move, knowing that wiping at it will only make it worse. Finally Kip is beside me, his hands touching me softly, helping me off the bench and leading me away from the stage. I stumble, leaning on him heavily, but manage to walk under my own power.    


“Cool shower,” Master says to Kip as soon as we get backstage. “No food or water. Get those manacles off him and bandage his wrists. Put ointment on his welts and then come find me. I’ll be waiting in the lounge off of the bar.”   


Then we’re walking again, and I stumble more than I step, shuffling my feet out of sheer exhaustion. My head is ringing and the world feels shaky, like it’s tilting on its axis. I don’t understand. I’ve been hurt worse than this before. I’ve endured far more trauma than these superficial injuries. But for some reason, these wounds are affecting my performance far more than I had expected. Perhaps I’ve gotten lazy and weak during my time with Zeke.    


I feel my heart pounding as we trudge through the crowd of owners and assets, Kip half-carrying me. My head spins dizzily and I can’t seem to get my balance. Someone approaches us and I shy away, practically knocking Kip over with my instinctual reaction. When the person stops, I notice that it’s an asset from the bar. I hear him offering to help Kip carry me. My arm clenches reflexively around Kip’s shoulder at the thought of a stranger touching me right now. I’m too exposed. I can’t control my reactions. It’s not safe. I can’t… I can’t…   


“No,” I hear Kip say firmly, “We’re fine. Master Zeke wouldn’t want anyone else touching him right now.” I don’t know if it’s true or not, Master certainly hasn’t said anything like that while I was around, but it makes the asset bow and leave. That’s all that really matters to me at that moment. Then Kip and I resume our slow walk to the shower, and everything just fades to a blur.   


I come around to Kip calling my name. There’s cool water flowing over my skin, and I tilt my face into the spray. The burning, itching feeling in my back has faded, although the skin still feels too tight and too warm.    


“Zero?” Kip calls again, and I meet his concerned silver eyes. “You faded out there for a while. I was getting concerned.”   


“Sorry,” I say gruffly. My voice is rough and raspy, but I remember Master’s instructions about no food or water. I lick the moisture from my lips, but it does little to soothe my irritated throat. I cough, still feeling the ache from Master using my throat so roughly. I’m sore all over, inside and out. I lean against the wall of the shower, overcome by fatigue.   


“Zero?” comes Kip’s voice again, soft and concerned. I shake myself, realizing that my eyes have slipped shut.    


“Sorry,” I respond. “Tired.”   


“I know,” Kip says gently. “Come on, let’s look at your back.”   


I leave the shower reluctantly, more because it hurts to move than because the water is doing anything to soothe me. I ache all over, with a weariness that I haven’t felt in a long time. And yet, I know sleep would not come to me even if I were allowed it. My head is buzzing with anxiety, with the constant threat of being in an unsafe territory with unknown variables.    


I lay facedown on the couch while Kip sprays something on my back that makes the burning fade. It smells like chemicals and menthol, and I wrinkle my nose against it. With how overloaded my senses are from being on high-alert, this small irritant seems like punch in the face. Everything is too much. It’s all just…    


I push myself to my feet, bone tired but unable to relax on the couch. It feels too vulnerable, too exposed. I walk to the sink, leaning heavily on the counter and wondering if splashing cold water on my face will help wake me up. I glance in the mirror and notice a drop of blood making its way down my chin. I swipe at it, only then remembering the cut on my lip from earlier, when Master hit me. Taking his cock in my mouth must have reopened the small cut. And I've been so distracted, I didn't even notice the taste of blood in my mouth.   


Kip moves around me then, inserting himself into my space in a way that should make me anxious, but I hardly even notice. We've become comfortable with each other at this point, to the extent that he registers as no threat. I can let him in my space, can let him touch me, with the firm knowledge that he means me no harm.    


I'm not sure I'm that comfortable even with Master Zeke at the moment.    


Kip dabs with a rag at the cut on my face, but I know it's quickly scabbing over again. He raises my hands and I have to help him undo the heavy manacles that still hang on my wrist. They drop to the floor with an obnoxious clatter, missing my toes by only inches. Underneath, my wrists are a mess of scabs and bruises, with a thin trickle of blood lacing down my hands. Kiplan quickly wraps my wrist in a towel, washing the blood away before wrapping the wrists in soft, cotton bandages. His fingers are gentle and sure, and the wrappings feel secure when he's finished. I'm not sure I could have done better on my own. Certainly not in this state.    


When he's finished, Kip holds my hands in his longer than necessary. I'm about to pull them from his grip when he takes a steadying breath and says, “I didn't know what Master had planned for you on the stage.”   


I stare at him, unsure of what he's trying to tell me.    


“I know that,” I reply.    


“I just...” he trails, “I would have warned you, if I'd known. But we were on that stage and he was... h-he was hurting you a-and I... I didn't know what to do or how to help... I d-didn't know...”   


“There's no way you could have known,” I reason. “There's nothing you could have done.”   


“I'm sorry,” Kip sobs and suddenly he’s in my arms, his face pressed into my bare chest. “I'm s-sorry!”   


“Kip!” I growl, and I realize he’s sobbing against me. “Kip, stop!”   


I grab a rag from the sink, hoping to stop his tears before they destroy his makeup, but I’m too late. Eyeliner is running down his cheeks, putting black lines through his foundation. Everything is smeared, and smeared where his cheek is resting against my chest. It’s too late already.    


“I’m fine,” I tell him more softly, pulling him away from my bare torso. “Master didn’t hurt me, not like he could have. This is nothing,” I assure him, holding up the bandaged wrist. “An accident, and a mild one at that. I’m fine.”   


“It’s not right,” he whispers again, his voice cracking. “He shouldn’t do that to you! He shouldn’t...”   


I silence him with a kiss, because those aren’t words that it’s safe to say here. There could be eyes everywhere. I keep the kiss chaste, a simple press of our lips together, but I feel Kip relax into it. Kissing is something he enjoys, something that calms him. I feel almost guilty about using it to manipulate him.    


“Don’t say those things,” I warn him softly as we part. I hope that he understands my true meaning: Don’t say those things here.    


“I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice toneless. Subdued. “I was just upset.”   


“Your face is a mess,” I tell him as I push him away. I can't have Kip falling to pieces. Not when I'm so close to the edge myself. “Fix it.”   


He gives a little laugh and sniffles, then washes his face in the sink. He reaches through the stacks of towels on the shelf until he pulls out a little basket of makeup. I wonder how he knew it was there – did he hide it there himself? - until I remember that Kip was a domestic asset before he came to Master Zeke. He probably worked behind the scenes in most of the social areas in the Leash. Little tricks like this are probably common knowledge to him.    


I stand, waiting for him to make himself presentable. The temptation is there to kneel or even lie back down on the bench, but I'm not sure I could convince myself to get back up. In the state he's in, I don't think Kip would make me. So I watch while he fixes his makeup, making it look like he's not just as stressed and tired as I am. Skin-colored paint covers the gray patches under his eyes, black pens make it look like his eyes are wide open when they're actually drooping with exhaustion. It's a useful camouflage, but time consuming. Thankfully, given that my look is more masculine and I've just taken a hard punishment, my natural appearance is apparently acceptable.  Eventually, Kip finished and returns the makeup to its hiding place.    


Pushing Kip gently in front of me, I steer him back toward the floor of the bar. I can’t let him see how tempted I am to stay in here. The pain in my back has faded from excruciating to low-level burning, but my entire body aches from the stress of my ordeal. I'd prefer to go back to the ship or, barring that option, curl up on the floor in here and lick my wounds. But I know Kiplan would be left to face an angry Master alone, and I won't do that to him. So I trudge forward, hoping there are no more unpleasant surprises coming from Master Zeke.   


Kip takes the lead as we move onto the floor, and I trail behind him, scanning the crowd for threats. I've never seen a location so badly set up for defense. There are too many shadows for assailants to hide in, and too few places to take cover. I can't even slow my steps, though, for fear that someone notices what I'm doing. My heart pounds, but I have to follow Kip without showing any of it. I keep my face carefully blank, grateful that I've had so much experience with that task.    


There's a lounge area that's better lit than the bar area, and several owners are congregating around a set of tables and couches. Master is at the center of the group, with the others surrounding him in a semi-circle at various distances. Master is draped casually across a long, leather couch, his legs crossed in front of him and one arm draped over the back of the couch while another cradles a martini. He sets it aside as I approach. Kiplan stays back against the wall in a waiting stance. The other owners direct their gazes at me, but I try to ignore it. I can feel my heart-rate rising. I can't track all of them, could miss it if one makes an aggressive move. There are too many of them, and Master is at the most exposed position in their center. If they turn on him...   


I stop in front of Zeke, his blue eyes meeting mine. They shine with confidence, even as I fight to keep mine from flitting nervously around. But Master holds my gaze, and I'm forced to still myself.    


“Kneel,” he orders, and the command is too sudden. I drop to my knees, and Master winces at the crack my shins make when they impact the floor. Pain lances down my legs and up my back, and the welts from earlier twinge painfully. Still, I keep my eyes focused on Master's. If I had to look anywhere else, I think I might retreat. I'd like nothing more than to flee this place, dragging Master Zeke and Kiplan with me. But Master will not order a retreat, so I must stay.    


Can't you see? I want to ask him. Can't you see that I'm at my limit?   


Exhaustion hits me in another dizzying wave. It would be easier, I think, if I were able to fight someone or if I had a task to accomplish. Adrift like this, with the adrenaline fading quickly from my system, it's a struggle to even stay awake. I feel weak and uncertain. My hands shake, my head spins.    


I've been hurt worse than this before. I know I have. This is nothing compared to having my leg shattered, compared to stab wounds and broken bones that I've suffered before. Why does it feel so much worse now? Is it because I care? Because laying in the dark, prepared to bleed out or die of shock, I never saw myself as anything other than a broken tool?  Because I didn't care if I left my owner to his fate? But now I have Kip and Zeke, and the anxiety I feel at the thought of failing them – of something happening to them – is more than I can take.    


Can't you see that these people are dangerous? Zeke, don't you understand that I can't protect you from a situation with this many variables? Don't you know that I would help you with every ounce of my strength, if I only understood why you're here? Please, I don't understand. What is my mission? What are my parameters? Why won't you tell me anything?   


Master's hand reaches out to me, cups my cheek. I feel his warm skin against my face and let my eyes slip closed. The spinning feeling stops and tension drains from my shoulders. I feel myself relaxing against his palm.    


My only option is to trust him. I'm not in a position to protect or defend myself or Kip. Master Zeke is the only one with any control over this situation. He's trained me rigorously to trust and submit to him. I've never had trouble with it before, and I can't start questioning his authority now. Zeke has proven himself to me. This should be easy. I simply need to relax and trust Zeke to take the lead.    


It should be easy.    


I do trust him.    


I have to.


	4. Blending In - Zeke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am well again! Yay! This is the last part of the intense beginning of this section. I've had some mixed responses to this part so I'm interested to see what everyone thinks. We've moved pretty far from the fluffy, one-on-one interactions of the first two sections, but it's all in the interest of keeping you all captivated and moving the plot along. Stick with me, guys! Things will get better (and then probably worse again, lol.) 
> 
> My beta team has really been picking it up for me in this chapter. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways. They have helped me out so much and I appreciate all that they do. You guys rock!

Zero is on his knees in front of me. His face is pale, his eyes hard from pain and stress. His shoulders are practically shaking with tension, the way they have been most of the evening. I wish I could just whisper to him, “Relax. It's alright. Calm down,” but I don't dare. Instead, I retrieve my martini glass from the table. It's filled with sparkling water, which I've been pretending to drink while being careful not to ingest any. I hold it to Zero's lips, letting him sip cautiously. He keeps his hands at his sides, knowing better than to reach for it without my specific instruction. I hold the glass for him, showing off my domination once again, but also needing to be able to do something for him. Letting Kip take Zero to clean up was difficult for me, not because I don't trust Kip to care for Zero, but because it's something I need to do for myself. The act of soothing the wounds is just as important for my stability as it is for Zero's, and I feel like missing that step has caused us both to feel uncertain. But I can't rectify it until we return to the ship, so I'll have to accept this pale imitation for the moment.

I hold the glass out until Zero has finished the liquid, then send the empty glass away with an asset. Zero's shoulders start to droop only moments after ingesting the water. I've laced it with a mild muscle relaxant, which I kept in a hidden pocket this evening along with the stimulant Kip and I used for the show. I kept it on hand thinking that I might need to slip it to Kip for his nerves, but it seems like Zero is the one who's over-stressed tonight. The punishment I put him through this evening was far less intense than other sessions we've had together, and yet he reacted so badly that I almost called a halt to the performance. Perhaps my choice of instrument was a mistake. I've used all range of whips and floggers on him, but never anything as long and showy as a six-foot bullwhip. Perhaps the noise startled him before I even began my strikes, although I removed the feathered cracking piece before I struck him. The item certainly isn't something an amateur should use, but I think Zero's unbloodied back is testament to my skill. The marks I left there are artful and perfect, giving him an almost tattoed line of bruises in his skin.

Still, the way Zero's eyes droop and his hands shake as the relaxant takes effect tells me that we still have a lot of work to do. If nothing else, I can't have Zero go on high alert every time I take him in front of another owner. He needs to be confident with their attention, not trying to be unremarkable in the background. This didn't come up when I took him to Red Seven, but I wasn't asking him to perform then. I wasn't expecting the attention to unnerve him so much tonight, but he performed admirably despite the tension. Unfortunately, I'm not sure there's any way to train this out of him. I might just have to keep putting him in this situation until his brain finally stops equating attention with danger.

“Come sit beside me,” I instruct him gently when the relaxant takes full effect and he starts swaying on his knees. He moves jerkily, his hands suddenly clumsy, and he seems perplexed by his own reactions. I move over and guide him to lay on the bench on his stomach, keeping his weight off of his injured back. His head rests on my thigh and his eyes, although heavy-lidded, fight to remain just a sliver open. Even practically asleep like this, he can't give up that last little piece of defense. It makes my chest ache, but I'm not angry. Zero has come so far in trusting me, I know the lengths I'm asking him to go are unfair. My only defense is that I have no other choice.

“Worn out?” Peterson asks. He's in the chair across from me. “I can't blame him, after a show like that.”

“Mm,” I hum noncommittally, running my fingers through Zero's short hair. I can feel him breathing against my leg, deep and steady. I slip my hand along his face, behind his ear and along his neck, until it rests at the base of his throat. I can feel his pulse beneath my fingers, a steady thrum that's still a bit faster than I'd like.

I turn my attention back to the small crowd that gathered around me after Zero's display. Across from me is James Peterson, who was incredibly pleased by the show and the attention it gathered. In the chair beside him is Dillon Arcrest, the owner who gave up the stage earlier for me. Both of the dark-haired men seem pleased with my performance and want to talk about Zero's training and skills.

Beside me at the next table over is Magdelene Empire, the golden-haired owner of the the Empire clothing line. She's brought a friend with her this time – a petite brown-haired woman with hazel eyes and honey-colored skin. She was introduced as Ellaine Castillo, and I recognized her as the daughter of a prominent politician on one of the wealthier satellites. I wonder if I'll see her father here as well, or if she's acting on her own.

At the table on my other side are two men, one thin and sandy-haired, the other broad and blonde. The one closer to me is Leonid Saal, a popular artist and photographer. He wears glasses which accentuate his blue-green eyes and probably don't do much else, since laser adjustments can fix any eye problem that glasses can with half the hassle. The other man introduced himself as Vikram Bjorn. Heavily muscled, with dark blonde hair and gray-blue eyes, dressed casually in brown khaki pants and black boots. I didn't recognize his face, but his family is one of the more prominent land-owning groups on Earth. Vikram, it seems, is interested by my skill with the whip. He's already extended an invite for me to come with him to see combat assets at BloodSports Arena. After my interaction with Petir, I'm conflicted about going, but I'm interested in getting to know the muscular man better, and I could really use another combat asset since Zero is officially a pleasure asset.

“I'd love for you to bring your Zero to my studio some time for photographs,” Leonid says, continuing a conversation that began prior to Zero's arrival. “Those scars are absolutely captivating on his back.”

Leonid seems harmless enough – calm, petite, and soft-spoken. The single pleasure asset that travels with him looks more like an owner than he does, with broad shoulders and an athletic build. Still, the asset looks healthy and doesn't seem nervous, standing just behind Leonid's chair.

“How many of the scars did you put there?” Vikram asks. I shake my head.

“Zero came with all of them. I have been careful not to break the skin since I decided to turn him into a pleasure asset.”

“It would be a shame to hurt him too much and lose that sweet disposition,” Leonid adds. “Other than being a bit high-strung, he seems to take your commands very well. And, of course, the nervousness probably comes from his training as a bodyguard.”

Leonid is an artist, and as such is particularly perceptive. I have to hope that Zero's anxiety isn't obvious, but that Leonid is particularly observant.

“He does seem like such a sweet boy,” Magdelene comments. “The way he curls up with you like that. My asset would sulk for days if I ever hit him that hard,” she says, and then nudges the kneeling asset with her foot. The asset keeps his eyes on the floor, but I can see a grimace of fear run across his features.

“Zero is a bit of a different case,” I say quickly, trying to lead Magdelene away from abusing her asset just to get him on par with mine. “By design, his body is sturdier than other assets' and he's put it through years of physical rigors to achieve this state. Also, I have a lot of experience in knowing how far to push before it becomes too much.”

“That last part was mean,” Magdelene's dark friend puts in suddenly. “You say you know how far to push, but there was no reason to throw semen in his wounds after his punishment was over. And after he surrendered so beautifully, too.”

“On the contrary,” Dillon counters, joining the conversation. “I think that was the best part. I don’t think I could have been truly satisfied with the performance if I hadn’t seen that splash of white across his skin. It might have been overly cruel if Zeke was planning on letting others use him, making the boy wait with the semen on his back, but it was the end of the show anyway. He only had to wait long enough to get it washed off, and it looks like he survived just fine.”

“I don’t think you can judge something done in the heat of the moment like that anyway,” adds James. “Besides, Zeke certainly knows his asset better than we do. I’m sure he knows what the boy can handle. Like he said, zeros are pretty sturdy.”

“He doesn’t look that sturdy,” the same woman counters. “Look at him now.”

“He’s exhausted,” I admit, “but it’s not a bad thing to tire him out. To be honest, it’s more difficult than I’d like to get Zero to this level of submission. If I’m not challenging him, then he’s challenging me, and I can’t allow that.”

“You have to keep a tight grip on a fighter like this one,” Vikram says approvingly. “Any step out of line has to be dealt with right away. Otherwise you'll have him biting at you everytime you turn around.”

I give a lewd smirk and say, “Oh, he knows better than to bite.”

The comment earns me a couple low chuckles from the females, but it's really just aimed at getting some attention off of Zero, who's dozing fitfully against my leg. I'd really like to get him out of here, if only I could find an excuse...

As if prompted by my will alone, Leonid gets to his feet. I stand as well, gesturing for Zero to stay seated. He tenses as he is dislodged from my leg, but stays laying on the seat.

“I've got several clients to meet, so I really need to be leaving now.” He offers me his hand and I shake it, his grip is firm but gentle. He smiles at me, and the emotion reaches all the way to his blue-green eyes. His sand-colored hair makes him seems younger than the rest of the group, with more of a boyish charm. “I hope you'll consider letting me photograph your asset. I'd love to have the last zero as my model. Think it over. I left my contact information in your Key.”

He waves to the rest of the group, then beats a hasty retreat with his asset trailing protectively behind.

Vikram rises next as Leonid vacates the table. He shakes my hand as well, his grip much stronger but his skin warm against my own.

“I have a lot of things to do tomorrow, but you must agree to come with me to the Arena,” Vikram says. There's just a touch of accent to his voice, similar to Petir's but much more subtle and genuine. I wonder if they know each other? The hint of accent is the only resemblance I can see – despite both being blonde and blue-eyed, Vikram is far more handsome and well-composed than Petir was. “I'd like see how you command assets in a fight. I'm interested in seeing how your zero fairs in a fight now that he's out of practice.”

“I don't know if I'm interested in letting him battle,” I respond with a frown. “I'd hate to have him too injured to fuck. He is a pleasure asset, after all.”

Vikram gives me a knowing smirk, and I'm not sure he's buying this pleasure-asset ruse that I'm running. He probably suspects that I'll still compete Zero as a combat asset, even if I compete him as a pleasure asset as well. He probably wants to size me up as competition.

“Either way, I would enjoy your company.” He gives me a charming smile. “Soon? Next week, perhaps?”

“He's already committed to coming to the Arcrest Lodge next week for a hunt,” Dillon interrupts. “So have you, despite being the worst horseman I've even had the misfortune of laying eyes on. Your little boxing match will have to wait.”

Vikram blushes, then laughs to cover his embarrassment.

“We'll see if any of your mangy horses can behave long enough to let me ride,” he grouses, but it's good-natured. “Good evening, ladies,” he says with a small bow to the females in our group, then leaves.

“I always give him the most ill-tempered horse I can find,” Dillon says once Vikram is out of earshot. “He has no idea. Can't get it through his thick skull that 'pretty' and 'good' aren't the same thing. He always wants to ride my white stallion – meanest piece of meat I've ever had in my stable. But I think Vik can use taken down a peg at least once a year, don't you?”

The girls laugh and I grin helplessly at the image of it. I hate to think that I'm looking forward to any event in this society, but it at least promises to be interesting.

“I'll try not to put years of equestrian lessons to shame,” I promise him. “Although I have to imagine it will at least be easier to mount a horse now than when I was twelve,” I joke. He smiles and stands casually. The two ladies rise as with him.

“We'll take that as our cue to exit as well,” Ellaine says, and I'm surprised to see the dark-haired woman taking the lead in this. I'd pegged her as Magdelene's lackey, but perhaps I was too hasty. She doesn't move to shake my hand, but I don't take it as a slight. Modern culture sees handshaking as a masculine, informal gesture. Some females refuse to use it, but are also uncomfortable with the closeness of hugging. This scenario seems plausible, especially since she's wearing a fashionable but full-skirted dress. So I take it as no insult when she nods in parting, and I nod respectfully in return.

Magdelene has no qualms about physical contact, it seems. She practically throws herself into my arms, her full breasts pressing against my shirt. Where the collar of my top is still unbuttoned, I can feel her naked skin against my own. I wrap my arms around her, careful to keep my hands near her shoulders. She certainly doesn't need my encouragement.

“Look me up before Dillon's party,” she whispers with a grin, “I'll hook you up with something pretty to wear.”

The she pulls away abruptly and flounces to join her friend, saying, “We'll be seeing you at the party, of course! Good-bye, darling!”

That just leaves myself and Dillon standing, and James still sitting at the table.

“I do hope you'll bring your zero when you visit me,” Dillon says, nodding to Zero who's still lying on the bench. “He's a beautiful creature, I'd love to see more of the way you handle him.”

“It would be my pleasure,” I tell him, offering a parting handshake. I can only hope that I'm telling the truth, that I won't regret agreeing to attend an event hosted by this man. In the space of the evening, I've gotten invitations from Magdelene, Dillon, Leonid, and Vikram for various social gatherings, but I'm coming to understand that Dillon's is the most extravagant and likely the most important. For this reason, and because I'm having a hard time reading Dillon's personality, his invitation makes me the most apprehensive. Still, as I watch Dillon retreat with his three assets in tow, I'm excited by the progress I've made here tonight.

“You should be very pleased with yourself,” James says, and I have to wonder if my expression betrayed some of my feelings, to lead him to that comment.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“It's not every day a first-time owner gets to sit down with three Champions.” He brushes himself off and gets to his feet in a casual, self-satisfied way. “I'd say you owe me that bottle of wine,” he tells me with a cheeky grin, “for putting you in contact with them.”

“You were already getting a bottle,” I quip back, “but I might be able to double it for some intel. Which ones were Champions?”

“Dillon, Vikram, and Ellaine,” he responds easily. “All are multi-year champions with the right to own and train dozens of assets. Ellaine puts out scholars in the medical and technical fields. If you want something with basic training, you can go to a dealer. But if you want a professional, you go to her.”

Fuck. I should have been more careful to make a good impression on her. I hadn't thought... With her coming as Magdelene's guest, I'd been too dismissive with her. If she attends Dillon's gathering, I'll have to attempt to salvage her opinion of me.

“And the others?” I prompt.

“Vikram competes combat assets – you might have met his cousin, Petir?” I nod, but I must have a distasteful expression, because James laughs and says, “Cousin by marriage. Vikram's not a bad guy. If things keep up with Petir, Vikram might replace him as the combat asset dealer soon.”

“Wouldn't that be a shame,” I quip sourly. James laughs.

“Dillon is a bit of an enigma. He trains assets in several areas – I think he's won competitions in covert, pleasure, and combat in different years. He rarely sells assets, although he will give them away on occasion. He's something of a big-shot around here. It's really impressive that you've managed to garner an invitation this early.”

Damn. I wonder, but I can't bring myself to ask. Could Dillon be the Owner? Could he be the one I'm looking for? Is it possible for it to be this easy to draw him to me? I feel a flicker of excitement, but I suppress it. It's entirely too soon to be making snap judgments like that.

“His parties are usually the social events of the season,” James continues with a hint of envy in his voice that I don't like. “It took me three years to get one.”

“Well,” I respond, trying to downplay the issue, “I think my display is probably what garnered his attention, and Zero did most of the work for that.”

“True,” James admits with an easy smile. The trace of bitterness has disappeared. “Actually, I stuck around because I wanted to see if you needed any help with your zero. He seems a little worn out, to be honest.”

“I think we'll be fine,” I assure him. “Zero, up,” I call, hoping it sounds more casual than I feel. I don't know how he'll react if one of James' assets attempt to carry him. I can only imagine attempted violence, although I'm not sure if Zero’s even capable of it at the moment. Perhaps the relaxant wasn't such a good idea, despite managing the intended results.

But Zero staggers to his feet, sluggish and with visible effort. I gesture for Kiplan, who comes and takes Zero's arm around his shoulders. They just have to make it to the ship, I remind myself. Then I can fuss over Zero all I want.

“I'll see you at the party next week,” James says casually, waving farewell. “Oh, by the way. Your Key should have messages from me about other scenes that people want to see, along with some monetary incentives. Think it over. If you want to accept any of the offers, the bar takes a cut and then we'll either set up the scene here or put you in touch with the other Owner.”

“Thank you,” I reply without committing to anything. I'm not sure I'm interested in doing any more scenes, especially requests. Not with how nervous Zero was tonight, when I was in total control of the situation. I'll have to work with him more, but I'd like to keep the option open as another source of funding. I'll look at the offers later, I decide, and see who and what they entail.

The walk back to the jump-ship seems to take forever, not in small part because Zero is practically shuffling and I am unable to carry him, knowing that it would look uncivilized for an Owner to carry his Asset. So I let them shuffle, trying to make it look like I'm in no particular hurry. Finally inside the confines of the small craft, I break with my persona and buckle Zero's safety harness for him.

“Did you slip me something?” Zero growls, his dark eyes smoldering as I latch him in.

“Yes,” I respond unhesitantly, meeting his gaze with one of my own. “You were too tense, and I needed you to relax in front of the other Owners. You couldn't properly submit with how uptight you were, so I slipped you something to calm you. You were failing, and I needed you to succeed.”

Zero flinches like I've slapped him, but it's the truth. I move a gentle hand to cup his cheek, but he pulls his face away from me.

“I understand,” he says and lowers his eyes. I let the conversation drop as I move toward the pilot's seat. I knew he wouldn't be pleased about my actions, but I hope eventually he can understand. If I'd had any notion that this would happen, I would have warned him that I might need to drug him. That wasn't an option with Kiplan, because I knew that warning him about the stimulant would give him insight into my plans for the evening, and that would only make him more nervous. But my actions with Zero weren't planned – weren't even a contingency plan, really. I never expected him to be anxious about what was happening, so I used whatever I had at hand to rectify the situation.

Zero is asleep by the time we get back to the ship – probably more because of the night's activities than from the relaxant I slipped him. I get him unstrapped and pick him up before he can come fully awake enough to fight me. He's heavy in my arms and I almost stumble, glad for a second time that I didn't try this at the bar. Zero has filled out and his body is slim but deceptively compact and heavy. Half asleep, he's like a lead weight in my arms.

He grumbles against my chest and says, “I can walk,” without opening his eyes.

“I know,” I tell him gently, but make no move put him down.

Kiplan scurries to open the hatches for us, but I can tell that he's tired too. The stimulant shouldn't have any negative effects – I've used them on myself enough to be confident of their safety – but there is a period of exhaustion afterwards. I'll have to let him sleep in tomorrow to recover.

In the bedroom, I put Zero carefully into the bed and help him settle on his stomach. I take a moment to look over the lines on his back – red and purple lines, thankfully no hint of broken skin. The swelling has already started to go down, most of the redness will probably fade by morning thanks to Zero's unnatural healing. The bruises will fade in another day or two, where it would usually take weeks for them to go. By the time Dillon's gathering comes around, Zero will be ready to take the stage again. It gives me mixed feelings, knowing that he'll have to perform again. And again. And again. Until I can manage to free him.

Kiplan is already in the shower when I get there, scrubbing his skin with unnecessary force. I take the cloth from him and run it along his shoulders and back. He braces his arms against the shower wall and sags, his head hung, letting me carefully stroke his skin. It helps a little, to be able to do this for him. It starts to fill the void that missing out on aftercare with Zero left. It's not enough, but hopefully between curling up with him tonight and pampering him tomorrow, it will salvage what I can of the routine.

I move to wash my hair, and Kiplan stays against the wall as I do. I don't push him, letting him go at his own pace and knowing the he's exhausted mentally and physically as well. When I turn back around, I realize he's crying. The shake in his shoulders is so small that I almost don't notice. The water from the shower masks his tears as I turn him around, but it's too late to hide it. He flinches back from me, but runs into the wall behind him. He presses back against the smooth, uneven rock surface behind him and sniffles, covering his face with his hands, and says, “I'm sorry!”

“It's okay,” I tell him, moving into his space. Will he accept comfort from me? Do I let him refuse it? It's not like I can send Zero to take my place right now.

“I'm sorry,” he says again, more softly. “I was just so scared when Zero... on the stage, when...”

He can't finish, and I don't make him. I pull him into my arms, wrapping him in a loose hug. He buries his face in my chest, accepting the consolation that I'm trying to give him.

“I know you don't fully trust me, and that makes things harder for you,” I tell him. He shakes his head against my skin, but we both know it's an empty denial. “But I want you to know that I am looking out for you, for both of you. If Zero had seemed like he was in actual danger tonight, I would have changed tactics to protect him.”

I did change plans, actually, several times based on Zero's behavior. What might have seemed like whimsical decision making was actually necessary reactions to Zero's abrupt change in demeanor. The tender love-scene I had hoped to offer between Kip and Zero after his punishment – what I had planned to sell as “make-up sex” between my two assets – had to be scrapped and the sex had to be worked into part of the punishment, because Zero was too tense to get any kind of enjoyment out of sex. Trying to show Zero in any soft or gentle scene would have come across as rehearsed and robotic, the worst trait that I could show from Zero. More than that, as his opening performance, those opinions would have stuck with Zero and would have proven particularly difficult to overcome. As much as I regret having to put Zero through an ordeal that he wasn't ready to handle, I can't say there are any choices that I could have made differently tonight. When faced with an impossible situation, sometimes unfortunate choices must be made.

Speaking of unfortunate choices…

I sigh, and wearily say, “You know, we’re going to have to increase your pleasure training now.”

“Yes,” he responds stiffly, pulling himself from my arms and visibly collecting himself. 

“I know you’d rather avoid it,” I tell him understandingly, “and I’ve tried to give you an adjustment period, but we’re running out of time. It isn’t fair to constantly put all the attention on Zero.” The words sound manipulative even to me, as there’s nothing more likely to push Kip than the implication that his actions are harming Zero. Thankfully, Kip is too busy feeling guilty to notice. 

“I… I understand, sir,” he says, and suddenly his hands are the most interesting thing in the room. He stares at them, and I’m suddenly worried that he might start crying again. 

“I’m going to let Zero help you,” I tell him abruptly, trying to make it sound like I’ve been planning this for a while, when really the idea just dawned on me. “I’ll show him some tools he can use to help you adjust. Hopefully you’ll be able to relax more with him. I’ll let you two have a few sessions in private before you’ll need to work with me again.”

“Oh,” he says softly, his earlier anxiety replaced with idle curiosity. “That… I suppose that might be nice,” he says hesitantly, then glances at me with sudden shyness, “As long as you approve, sir.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t,” I respond lightly, then change the topic with, “Come on, I'll wash your hair and then we'll get you to bed.” Kip is visibly exhausted and I’m starting to feel the day’s exertion as well. Kip turns around, letting me lather and scrub his hair. I let my hands linger in the soft strands, needing an extra moment of connection. Then he rinses and we leave the shower. We both use the air-dryer, too tired to bother with towels tonight. Then we stumble into the bedroom, where Zero is peering at us over his shoulder, bleary-eyed and half asleep. He tends to wake up every couple hours, so I'm not surprised to find him fighting his way out from sleep, considering he slept on the ride back.

“Status report?” Zero asks, slipping back into his militaristic language while he's half-asleep. He focuses on Kip, who's probably red-eyed from crying.

“Everything's fine,” I respond. “We just had to get cleaned up. Kip was upset about what happened tonight.”

Zero shrugs and turns back around, laying down on his stomach again. “I'm fine.”

“I know,” Kip says as he climbs on the bed, kneeling carefully beside Zero, “but it was still... I was upset, that's all.”

Zero shrugs, not even bothering to open his eyes. I round the other side of the bed, taking a bottle of numbing ointment from a nearby table. Zero has already had a dose of it earlier, but a second coating won't hurt and might help him sleep better with those wounds. This version is stronger than the spray, but it has to be rubbed in, and Zero frowns as my fingers gently run across his back.

“I'm fine!” he snaps, turning a glare on me.

“So you've said,” I respond.

“I'm not going to die from a couple lashes.”

“I know,” I tell him calmly, but I can see that he's getting agitated. He can't admit that he likes it when I fuss over him, can't admit to himself that he enjoys the attention. But despite all the snarling to the contrary, he doesn't pull away from my hands.

“Then stop it!”

“A second dose won't hurt you.”

“I don't need it!” he growls again, but it's Kip that answers this time.

“It's not about you,” Kip says, surprising both Zero and myself into looking at him. Surprises himself, too, if the expression on his face is any indication. “I mean, that's what you've said, right? That it's also about making sure he's alright for yourself? That you didn't push him too far?”

For the life of me, I can't remember saying those exact words to him. I've mentioned similar things several times in our sessions while trying to teach Kip that his dominant instincts do not make him a monster. Getting him to stop fighting his urge to lead and control has been an uphill battle, but maybe it's sinking in more than I thought.

Zero gives a dramatic sigh and relaxes against the bed. I guess it makes it okay, in his mind, if it's for my sake instead of his.

“Fine,” he grouses, and I let him pretend that he hates this.

I put a thick layer of numbing agent on his welts while Kiplan curls up against his side. By the time I finish with his back, they're both half-asleep. I wipe my hands off and then run my fingers across his shoulders and neck, rubbing the tension out of them. I didn't hit him above the shoulder blades, so I can touch him here without fear of causing him pain. I massage the tension from his neck and shoulders, eventually just running my fingers through his short hair while he breathes deeply in sleep.

I need this moment, I realize. I need some time with them where I don't have to be their owner. Where I can just be the man who cares about them and wants to protect them. I'm astonished by how heavily my disguise wears on me, especially in this moment when I get to take it off.

I look at the red and purple lines running across Zero's back, knowing that he submitted as well as he could, but because I forced him to, not because he wanted to. I look at Kiplan's pale, porcelain face, seeing the line of tension between his eyes. Does the horror of today weigh on his mind even now? Will he wake tonight screaming, shaking, barely able to accept the comfort I offer? It wouldn't be the first time Kip has woken from a nightmare shaking and trying to hide it. And I try not to show it, but it kills me when he flinches from my touch, looking at me like an apparition of his darkest fears. Even worse is when I understand his reaction, when I feel like the beast he believes I am.

I wonder, how long can I pretend to be a monster?

Before I actually become one?


	5. A Lesson From Zero - Kip POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone! (Well, almost.) I wish I'd thought to do a holiday themed chapter, lol. I guess you'll just have to make do with this smut-filled one. :) Hope everyone gets lots of Trick Or Treaters!
> 
> My beta team, as always, is absolutely awesome. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways. I appreciate them SO MUCH and can't give them enough thanks!

“Zero,” I complain. “I don’t like this. I don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he asks, but it lacks sharpness.

We’re back in the safety of our ship after that horrifying trip to the Line. I'm trying desperately to forget the experience, to block out the scared faces of the other pleasure assets and Zero's pained noises as Master Zeke hit him. Trying to forget the feel of his body around my cock as I took him almost violently in front of the other owners, or the way I felt like my body was out of my control as the stimulant forced my cock to harden and then abruptly soften when it faded. Trying to forget Master Zeke fitting in with the owners seamlessly, laughing and showing off at our expense. Trying... Just trying to forget it all.

It's not easy when Zero has a sex-toy in my ass and is trying to convince me to participate.

“Can't we just tell Master that we did this? Can't we just...” It's only been two days since the Line. It's not enough time to process. I'm not ready. “Can't we just wait?”

We're in the master bedroom, just the two of us. Apparently Master Zeke has been coordinating with Zero to get me better adjusted to sex so that I can perform at future events. The idea is that I'll be more relaxed with Zero, so he can train me until I'm ready for Zeke. Zero so far has managed to get me stretched and lubed, and helped me insert a very small plug that's now attached to the hard, plastic chair that I'm sitting on. The plug has a semi-rigid tube coming out of it, attached to a ball that's in my hand. Zero is kneeling in front of me, ready to start. But suddenly, it feels like everything is moving too fast. I find myself balking, even though Zero has patiently explained the entire process once before and nothing has changed since then.

“That's stupid,” Zero responds, ever eloquent and tactful. “Beyond the fact that you need all the practice you can get, don't you think Zeke will get suspicious if you don't get any better?” He continues without giving me time to answer. “Here's how it works. This pump,” he indicates the squishy blue ball in my hand, “is connected to this hose.” He moves his finger from the ball in my hand, down the connected hose, until it disappears under my thigh. “The hose is connected to the phallus that's already inside you,” he says, referring to the small dildo that's secured to the seat and buried in my ass. “If you squeeze it, the phallus will get bigger. You control the pace of inflation.”

“Why would I want to inflate it?” I respond, my voice agitated. I'm not stupid. I know how the thing works. I just don't want to use it.

“Because I'm going to suck your cock, and I won't get you off until the phallus is fully inflated.”

“Zero!” I gasp, “That's too cruel.”

Zero rolls his eyes, unimpressed.

“You won't die from lack of orgasm,” he says, then smirks before he says, “but you may want to.”

I can't believe how casual Zero is being about this, how little the night at the Line seems to have affected him. If anyone should be uncomfortable about sex right now, it's Zero. I feel ashamed of myself for balking at this training, when it's Zero who has been through a traumatic experience. And he’s still trying to help me, even after everything he went through, after the way Master Zeke treated him...

“Are you… okay?” I find myself asking. “With Zeke, I mean.”

He gives an irritated growl.

“Is that the equivalent exchange?” he huffs. “You’ll stop whining about this if I talk about my feelings?”

“Is that... Is that equal?”

“I’d say it’s equal levels of discomfort for both of us.”

“I...” A good friend would agree without making deals, knowing that Zero is only trying to help. But with this thing in my ass, I'm not really feeling like a good friend. “Yeah,” I continue with a soft sigh, aware that the training is inevitable but this agreement is probably a limited offer. “I'll stop complaining if you'll talk to me.”

“Fine,” he growls, “but I don't have to talk until after you finish, understood?”

I have a feeling that it's the best I'm going to get, so I nod my head in agreement. Then Zero's talented mouth descends on my cock and I can't manage any words, just a startled gasp and a half-suppressed moan. My cock reacts immediately, and not with dampened, forced reaction that the drugs created. Zero's mouth is soft and warm, and I jerk my hips before I can still myself. Zero's hands go to my thigh and my balls, kneading my sack gently. His tongue laps over the head of my cock, teasing more than anything. I make an encouraging noise and Zero flicks his eyes pointedly to the inflation device in my hand.

Damn. I'd forgotten about that already.

I squeeze the ball, hearing the hiss of air moving through the tube, then have the strangest sensation of something filling inside me. It's not unpleasant, at first, but it does seem large. I feel my muscles shift around it, pulling it deeper and then trying to push it back out. Despite the semi-flexible material, it stays firmly seated, an immovable object that my body is expected to accommodate. I shift again, trying to make it feel less obtrusive, less uncomfortable. Pleasant feelings war with discomfort as Zero continues to lap at my cock. I take a breath and squeeze the ball again, feeling the phallus grow inside me. It seems like it grows exponentially bigger this time and I gasp in surprise, would probably have attempted to climb off the chair if Zero weren't basically pinning my hips.

“Wait,” I gasp, “What if it's too big?”

He pulls his mouth away from my cock and says, “It isn't. You know it isn't, I showed you how far it will inflate. It's hardly bigger than my cock.”

It's true. He held the thing up and pumped the little ball as the phallus grew obscenely. The idea that it's inside me...

“Stop worrying about it so much,” Zero grumbles, “I can see you thinking from here.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, turning my attention back to what Zero is doing.

I need to keep going or I'll never get this over with. I squeeze the ball and give another surprised grunt as it grows inside of me. The feeling is so strange and my body feels so tight around it, struggling to adapt to the intruding object. I can't stop, though. I take a breath and squeeze the ball again, then give a pained sound as the phallus tries to force my body to expand further. I bite my lip, preparing to take another inflation just to get this over with.

“Stop that,” Zero growls, his hand going to my wrist as his mouth leaves my cock. He's staring at me sharply and I... What did I do? “If the intention had been for you to force your way through the pain, I wouldn't have bothered with the inflatable dildo. Give yourself time to adjust.”

“I don't think I'll ever be able to adjust to this,” I tell him miserably. The fun has gone out of this exercise and I just... I just want it over.

“Calm down,” Zero tells me gently, his fingers trailing over my flagging cock. “Just take a second to relax.”

He sits up then until we're eye to eye with me sitting on the chair and him kneeling in front. I know the kiss is coming, but it still surprises me with how soft it is, how gentle. Zero presses our lips together lightly, letting me take the initiative to move against him. I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, tasting my cock in his mouth. It's nice. Kissing is... well, it's nice, and it's also safe.

“You're afraid of the pain,” he tells me gently when we've parted, “so you tense up and it hurts. You're making your own destiny.”

“How do I fix it?”

“Trust me. You know I won't hurt you,” he says, and his voice is almost offhanded, like it's a forgone conclusion that he would never hurt me. And he's right. “Focus on me and on what I'm doing. Don't fight it, understand? Trust me.”

“I do,” I tell him as he shifts lower, so he's kneeling again. “I do- I mean, it's not...”

“I know why you're afraid,” Zero says, cutting through my mumbling. “I know that this act has created great pain for you in the past and you've having a hard time disconnecting what happened then from what's happening now. But it isn't the same, and you can't let your fears define you. You're better than that.”

Damn. When he says it so casually like that, what else can I do but agree? I'm grateful that Zero has so much confidence in me, now if I could only feel that assured of myself.

“I'll try,” I tell him, which is the best I can manage.

Zero goes back to my cock and I let my legs fall open, leaning against the back of the chair instead of sitting rigidly straight. It feels different in this position, like the dildo isn't such an intrusion. When I squeeze the bulb again, the expansion flows along the natural curve of my body without causing me any discomfort. Zero plays with my testicles and I moan in pleasure. I enlarge the dildo again, writhing in my seat. I just want to thrust into Zero's mouth, but I'm pinned still. Without thinking about it, I squeeze the ball again and again and again. Until finally, I squeeze and there's no pressure behind it.

“That's it,” I tell him, dropping the squeeze bulb to the floor and bringing both my hands to Zero's shoulders, “That's it, that's all, please, Zero! Please!”

But Zero pulls away, and I give a pained whine of denial.

“Rock on it,” Zero commands.

“What?!” I snap back.

“Rock yourself against the plug.”

“That- That wasn't part of the deal!”

“Trust me,” Zero responds, smug and unimpressed with my tantrum. “I'll help,” he promises, and his hands take a better hold on my hips as his mouth goes back to my cock.

He guides me, using his hands to shift my hips while I brace my back against the chair, my arms going to his shoulders for balance. I don't so much rock myself as I bob very slightly up and down on the dildo beneath me. I can't be moving more than an inch in either direction, but I feel so full that it seems like I'm pounding myself against the chair. It feels... It feels good, though. With most of my attention focused on my cock, I don't feel any apprehension about the phallus in my body, so I don't tense up. It slides smoothly through my channel, each little movement sending sparks of pleasure through me. And Zero moves with me, somehow balancing my movements with his own, so that his mouth never leaves my cock.

Finally, he pushes me down in the seat, burying the plug deep into my ass, and sucks hard on my cock. His fingers wrap around the base, giving it a single firm stroke, and I'm coming so hard that I scream and spots dance in my vision. My nails bite into his shoulders but I'm helpless to control it, helpless to do anything but hang on as the waves of pleasure roll over me. My scream echoes in my ears even though I'm not consciously aware of making a sound. My back arches and only Zero's hands on my hips and the stationary dildo in my ass keep me from jerking out of the chair. I see spots before I manage to take a gasping breath, falling back against the chair in a sagging, panting mess.

Zero laps the last remnants of my orgasm from my cock, cleaning my skin with his tongue, making me shiver as the over-sensitized flesh is stimulated. Zero doesn't give me long to recover, though. The next thing I know, he's leaning over me. I wrap my arms around his neck as he puts his arms under me. Instead of deflating the plug first, Zero lifts me straight up and off of it. I feel the phallus slide from my body like an actual cock, leaving me open and gaping. I squeeze my legs together, hating the feeling of being lewd and exposed, as Zero moves me to the bed. Over his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of the phallus still jutting from the chair, fully erect. Exposed, it doesn't seem nearly as big as it felt inside me, but it's glistening with lube and seems somehow more lewd than it did going in.

Zero settles beside me on the bed, curling at my side and pulling my attention away. I glance at him, noting the way his cock is hard. Zero seems fine to just ignore it, but it just seems mean to me.

“Do you want to...?” I ask, nodding at his cock. Zero has almost as hard a time stimulating his cock as I do taking one in my ass. Because of the libido suppressants he was on, his cock easily gets over-sensitized, and it can be a challenge to reach orgasm without pushing his heightened senses almost to the point of pain. Zero sighs and flops back on the bed.

“Do we have to?” he says mockingly, a little smile playing around his lips without ever really forming. “I mean, Zeke will never know.”

“Oh shut up,” I grumble at him, hearing my own words echoed in his voice. Then, more hesitantly, I ask, “Would you want to... you know.”

“Fuck you?” Zero clarifies in the most direct way. I blush and nod. “Do you think you're ready for that?”

“I think...” I stutter, “I think it would be okay...” Zero doesn't look convinced. I sigh. “I'm still scared, alright? I know I can trust you and I... I  _ want _ to get over this. I want to be able to do things like this naturally, like you do.”

“Okay,” Zero says, “then we'll keep working on it.”

With Zero's agreement, it suddenly dawns on me that Zeke could walk in at any minute. He could even be watching now through one of the ship's security systems. Is this outside the scope of what Zero's supposed to be doing with me?

“You won't get in trouble for this, will you?” I ask. “I mean, you don't think Zeke would be upset that we're doing this?”

“Zeke gave me permission to fuck you as part of your training,” Zero says bluntly. “I didn't know if you'd be ready yet, but it's a good idea to start early. My cock is much smaller than Master's. We'll have to work you up to larger lengths during your sessions.”

“Okay,” I agree. The idea that this is all still part of my pre-planned training somehow puts a damper on the whole thing. But that's a shallow thought, so I push through. “How... Umm. How do you want me?”

“On your stomach,” he guides, and when I move to my hands and knees he shakes his head. “Flat on your stomach,” he clarifies. When I lay flat he moves me so that my legs are straight together, then straddles the backs of my thighs. He takes a second to lube himself, then slips his cock along the crease of my ass. I take a halting breath as he changes his angle after only a couple strokes, pushing against my hole without pushing in. I'm loose, even though I tense up, and the head of Zero's cock finds my entrance easily, teasing my rim. Gradually, with a slow deliberateness that I've come to expect from the former soldier, Zero pushes his cock into me. I hold myself still for him, my hands fisted in the sheets. There's still fear there, despite my trust in Zero, but it's like a memory of fear. Like it's finally starting to settle in that what I've experienced before – pain that feels like a punishment and a general disregard for my comfort – isn't the same as what's happening now.

When Zero stops, his balls are resting firmly against my thighs. I can feel his cock inside me, but the stretch is very minimal. Is it because of what we just did? Or...

“This method isn't very deep,” Zero tells me. He must have seen my confused glance over my shoulder. “Master suggested starting you off with a shallow position, to get you used to penetration from a real cock.” And there he is again, sticking his nose into everything we do. “The angle is different from what you've had before, you should tell me if it's uncomfortable.”

“No, it's...” Strange, but not bad. “It's fine.”

Zero nods once and starts moving, a slow, gentle glide with his hips. He's right about the angle. I can definitely feel the difference. Actually, it feels kind of... nice. My body is already stretched and pliant from the dildo and my orgasm, so Zero's cock doesn't drag on my insides like I'm used to. I like the feel of his weight on my back and the way his cock slides along my thighs as it enters me. My balls are trapped between my legs and his thrusts nudge them gently, just enough to give me a thrill of pleasure without overwhelming the sensitive flesh. Zero's thrusts are slow and steady, so I'm surprised when he grunts and thrusts deep. I remind myself, belatedly, that Zero's cock is still over-sensitive from his time on suppressants. He doesn't need as much stimulation as a normal person to reach orgasm. Too much stimulation usually makes it harder for him to reach climax.

Zero empties himself into my loose hole, and I feel a hot wetness between my thighs. I make a face at the slimy feeling of the mess, but Zero is already moving off of me and handing me a towel to clean up with.

“How do you feel?” Zero asks, and I shrug.

“Good. I mean, it wasn't very deep, so it was fine.”

“You didn't tense up on me. We've only been at this a day, and that's already some progress.” Zero doesn't say that we desperately need that progress or that we've got precious few training days available before our next social gathering. I hear both facts in his words, though, and I bite my lip in fear and humiliation. Why is it so hard for me to do something that comes so naturally to Zero? Why am I so pathetic all the time?

“Stop it,” Zero grumbles, ever perceptive, and gestures to my lip. “You're going to break the skin if you keep worrying it like that.” And my skin takes forever to heal, so I quickly obey his command. “How have you been feeling lately? Any more headaches?”

I shake my head and then flop back to the bed with a sigh. I've had a few days of reprieve from my constant migraines, but the last one was a doozy. Only a day before our trip to the Line I'd been hit with a pain strong enough that I'd had to use a full patch, and even then there was the fear that I wouldn't be recovered in time for our trip. Thankfully, though, the headache abated early enough that Master was able to overlook my paleness as performance jitters. But... it was close.

Zero drops his towel to the floor and moves back to the bed beside me, laying so that our shoulders are touching. I enjoy the closeness of his body, even though it's something I'm familiar with since we sleep in the same bed. It's comforting to feel his warm skin against mine, to know that he's here with me.

“So...” I start gently when he settles, his head pillowed on his arm. “You said you'd tell me how things are with you and Master Zeke,” I remind him.

“I was hoping you'd be too tired to ask me that,” he says flatly. “I'll have to work you harder next time, so you don't have the energy to interrogate me afterwards.”

I nudge him with my elbow and say, “You made a deal and I'm holding you to it.”

He sighs in an exaggerated manner and then goes quiet for a few minutes. I'm starting to feel drowsy, wondering if he's actually hoping that I'll fall asleep, when he says, “I don't know how to tell you about things in my head that I don't understand myself.”

“Try,” I prod.

“I still have these feelings for him. I still...” I know that it's hard for Zero to admit that he's in love, so I nod and Zero moves on, “But it's frustrating. I want him to lean on me, to trust me. And he does, but not in the way that I want him to.” Not with his plans, and not with whatever secrets he's hiding from us that make him seem like such a contradiction. If it's even a secret, because it could just be something that Master Zeke has decided we don't need to know. “He doesn't treat me any differently than he treats you, and I don't know how to fix it.”

“I don't know if you can fix it, Zero,” I tell him gently. I run my fingers consolingly through his short hair. He sighs and shifts closer, until his head is pillowed on my shoulder.

My reply hangs in the air, waiting for a response that Zero doesn't supply. I wait, feeling like there's something more to be said, but Zero still can't verbalize it. Finally, I prompt , “Is there... anything else you want to talk about?” because I can't shake the feeling that there's something still bothering him.

“It's stupid,” he says softly, after several seconds of quiet.

“You can tell me,” I offer gently. “I won't think it's stupid.”

He's quiet for another long period of time, long enough that I think he's not going to answer, and then finally he says, “I didn't like it when Zeke slipped me those drugs.”

“Oh,” I say quietly. “Did they make you feel bad?” He shakes his head against my shoulder. “Then what...?”

“We could have been attacked, and I couldn't defend us. I know that's not my place any more, that I'm not supposed to protect Zeke, but...” he gives a noise of muted frustration and confusion, “I was submitting to him. I was doing a good job, even though it was upsetting. There wasn't any reason to take that away from me, without telling me he was doing it. He didn't even tell me it was an option – or that he was going to use the stimulant on you. And with... with the way your body is,” he says stiltedly, unable to put into words the fact that I've been illicitly slipping painkillers to deal with my debilitating migraines, “that could have been really dangerous.”

“You're right on all accounts,” I respond easily, “but there's nothing to be done about it. He's our Owner. He doesn't have to ask permission for... for anything. You know that.”

“I just…” he growls in frustration, shifting closer until our bodies are flush all down the side. “I know I was... anxious,” he continues. He can’t admit that he was afraid, nor do I expect him to, but it’s closer to the truth. “But was it really so obvious? I obeyed without hesitation. I did everything that was asked of me. So why did he treat it like a failure?”

I bite my lip, contemplating my words, because I don’t think Zero will want to hear this. Still, he’s being honest with me, and I can’t do less than that in return.

“I noticed that you were anxious,” I admit to him softly. “If I could tell, then it’s possible that the other owners noticed as well. You might not have been obviously afraid, but… Well, you certainly looked tense.”

Zero takes a moment to contemplate that, but he doesn’t pull away from me. Finally, he says, “Master Zeke wants me to be the untouchable warrior until he fucks me, then he wants me to play the harlot.” Zero’s tone is bitter, but his words are soft. He’s unhappy, but he’s not angry with me. I can’t blame him for being displeased with Zeke, who asks so much from us and offers so little trust in return. “I don’t think I can do both. I can’t…” There’s a soft desperation in his voice. More than anyone else, I know how hard Zero tries to be good for Zeke, to be strong and adaptable and whatever our owner needs. It’s taking its toll on him. “He can’t awaken these emotions in me and then turn them off on a whim. He can’t utilize my combat training one moment and then force me to ignore it the next. It isn’t fair of him to ask that of me.”

“No,” I tell him gently. “It really isn’t.”

There’s nothing else to say to that. We both know that reality is far from fair, especially for people like us. 

“And yet,” I prompt softly, “you still have feelings for him? Stronger than an asset should have for his owner?”

Zero is silent, and turns to hide his face in my shoulder. 

“This is why you worry me so much,” I tell him with a sigh, running gentle fingers down his arm. “Because you think of Zeke like someone who can be trusted and reasoned with. He owns us, Zero. We're nothing more to him than expensive pets. That's why you have to be careful putting so much of your faith in him. He's just... he's not like us.”

“I know,” Zero says softly, and it's a word laced with so much turmoil that I let the issue drop.

We lay there quietly for several minutes. Zero's eyes are open but far away, too lost in his thoughts to notice the quiet creep of time. I watch his face, so intense with concentration but flawlessly expressionless, like a marble statue. With nothing else to say, I can only lay quietly as Zero tries to meld my advice and his own feelings. I don't know if my council actually helps Zero at all, but... Well, I just want him to be careful. Falling in love with an owner can get you more than heartbreak. When their fickle tastes change, it can get you killed.

I find myself dozing, sleepily blinking my eyes as I fight to stay awake. I must fall asleep fully, because the next thing I'm aware of is Zero lifting me from the bed. I startle, grabbing at his shoulders, but he just says, “I have you,” and carries me easily into the other room. An ache in my lower back makes itself known and I realize that I must have been out for a while, at least half an hour. There's a bath already drawn that Zero lowers me into, then slides in beside me.

“I thought you'd be sore after that,” he tells me as I settle back into the jets, “but you looked so exhausted that I decided to let you sleep while I cleaned up.”

It's a comforting thought that Zero slipped out of bed while I slept and quietly put everything away. Comforting too that I won't have to look at those items when I go back in the bedroom, won't have to be embarrassed by the evidence of such lewd acts that I've performed. I'm becoming more comfortable with these tasks – assets have no real sense of modesty, nor can we afford one – but it's still embarrassing to me. I've never quite been able to lose my shyness about sex, perhaps because all of my sexual experiences have come in the form of offhanded fuckings from my previous owner. The tools and the deliberateness that Master Zeke uses in his training... well, they still make me blush.

It seems almost like Zero follows my train of thought, because his next words are, “Master Zeke wants you to participate in another dominance session, to get you more used to seeing impacts. Would you be okay with that? I might be able to hold him off until after a couple more sexual sessions. Unlike this one, Master would be present for the impact lesson. I would... I would probably be tied up again.”

“It's...” I hesitate. Watching Zero last time had been… terrifying. But in the session before that, it had been... it had been good. Not as frightening or degrading as I had feared. There's still a part of me that refuses the idea of causing harm to anyone, but there's another part of me that loved seeing Zero like that, trusting and helpless and submitting. If he... If he can manage to enjoy that, surely I can at least continue my lessons? Maybe then I can come to understand Zero better, how he can take such pain without animosity and fear. And maybe I can learn more about my own desires and why Zero's restrained form caused so much excitement in me that time.

“Would it be soon?” I ask, careful to keep fear or anticipation out of my voice.

“I don't know,” Zero responds easily. “Master Zeke has been shut in his office a lot lately, doing... something.” And there it is again, that lack of information about this man and his motives. “I don't know if we'll have time before the event next week.”

The idea of another Leash event does send a stab of anxiety through me, but I push the emotion down firmly. There's nothing I can do about it, so there's no sense worrying.

“If you're willing to help me, then I want to try.”

He gives me a soft smile in response, and Zero's smiles are so rare that I find myself grinning. I find his hand under the water and lace our fingers. He closes his eyes, but doesn't pull away.

For just a moment, it feels like we're somewhere beyond the chaos of the Leash. That we're in a safe place where there are no dangers or demands. I lean back as well, trying to enjoy the moment of serenity.

I know better than most that it won't last. So I'll enjoy it to the fullest while I can.


	6. The Empire Exchange Rate - Zero POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a hot mess last week. HitomiNoRyu was nice enough to suggest the inflatable dildo idea, and I didn't even give her credit! Can you believe that? To be honest, I pretty much lost track of which chapter I was posting. So please give Hitomi a big round of applause. I'm giving her at least half credit for the last chapter. I couldn't have done it without her. 
> 
> Speaking of people I can't do it without, my beta team keeps finding entire words I'm forgetting, lol. Like, you might have to play Mad Libs with this fic if it weren't for them. Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways are, as always, the best I could ever ask for. I just have to give them my appreciation once again. 
> 
> Final note: I know this chapter is a day and some change early. I would say it's because I just can't wait, but actually it's because my sister asked me to come help her clean for an apartment inspection on Sunday. :( Send calming thoughts - I come from a long line of hoarders and I'm a minimalist. Worst case scenario, I start pitching her stuff from the second-story balcony. Lol?

We take a jump-ship to see Owner Empire at mid-week. Master wants us to have new outfits for Owner Arcrest's party. I dislike the entire idea – the outfits, the party, and especially Magdelene Empire. The thought of watching her paw at Master Zeke is oddly revolting, considering it has no direct impact on me.

“Zeke, darling,” she squeals as we step from the ship, and I cringe inwardly. To do so externally would be rude enough that it might attract Master Zeke's anger, so I make sure my careful mask of neutrality is in place. Her outfit this time is a simpler than the one she wore to the Line – curve-hugging, long black skirt and a long-sleeved crimson shirt with a dangerously plunging neckline. It's the kind of clothing that would be more hindrance than protection in a fight, the kind that's so artfully made it's closer to body paint than fabric. She throws her arms around Zeke's neck and smashes her over-generous, partially-covered chest against his body. I amuse myself by imagining Zeke flipping her over his shoulder in a martial-arts throw and then strolling away. It helps me suppress the urge to do it myself.

Kip brushes my arm and I dart my eyes to him, certain that the move was intentional. He catches my glance and I can see thinly veiled amusement in his eyes. At least one of us is entertained by her.

“This way, darling,” she calls, pulling Zeke along by his wrist. Kip and I follow at a polite distance. “I was so inspired by your performance the other day that I've done nothing but create since I saw you last. I'm so excited to see what you think.”

She hangs on him as they walk and he lets her, doing nothing to rebuff or repel her. I want to think that he's just being polite, but then he loops his arm around her waist and I have to question how far he has to go for courtesy.

She leads us into a large room that must be her design center. Fabrics are scattered around on several tables, mannequins are half-dressed or fully naked. There are two men waiting in the room along the wall, heads down and wrists crossed. Both are dark haired with tall, willowy forms. They're dressed in matching outfits – crisp white button-down shirts and black pants. It's evident that they're assets even before I spot the black collars around their necks, similar to the ones Kip and I are wearing.

“This is Snip and Stitch, my team of assistants. They'll be helping me with the fitting.” The two assets bow to Master Zeke, keeping their eyes down.

“Are they domestics?” Master Zeke asks.

“No, they're both scholarly. I had Ellaine start their training and then I finished teaching them my skills. You remember Ellaine, don't you?” Magdelene's dark-eyed friend from the Line. I only vaguely remember her, considering that I was drugged at the time of our first meeting. “She trains some of the best scholarly assets.”

“Is she the dealer for them?” Master asks. Magdelene shakes her head.

“Ellaine doesn't have enough product to move yet to be considered a dealer, but...” she trails, biting her lip excitedly. “Oh, I can't spoil the surprise! You'll simply have to wait.”

“I see,” Master responds with an amused smile. He runs a finger across her shoulder slowly. Sensually. “Not even if I beg?”

She hesitates, and I can see the open hunger on her face. She's tempted, but she takes a steadying breath and then says, “Naughty boy! You'll just have to be patient.”

“Can't blame me for trying,” Zeke responds, then backs off.

“Alright, enough gossip,” she says, gesturing sharply. “Lets see what we have to work with. Clothes off,” she commands Kip and me. There's a moment of hesitation where we each glance at Zeke for approval, and when he nods we start to divest our garments. We're both dressed simply in long pants and plain shirts. Mine is a pull-over while Kip has chosen his traditional button-up. Kip unbuttons his top while I shirk mine over my head. I drop my clothes to a pile on the floor, unconcerned about being naked. Kip is a bit more hesitant, folding his clothes and laying them at his feet. When he straightens, he folds his hands over his genitals awkwardly. If he thinks the gesture makes him look any less naked, then he's mistaken.

Owner Empire circles us, making interested noises and clucks of her tongue as she surveys us.

“Yes,” she says softly, her tone distracted. “I think my measurements should be close enough. I estimated their size from seeing them at the bar, but it looks like I was fairly accurate. We'll do any alterations before you leave today.” She snaps her fingers at Snip and Stitch, then gestures to us. “Take them to get dressed.” She glances to us and says, “Go with them.”

Kip and I glance to Master, who nods his approval.

“Thank you, Owner Empire,” Kip and I intone together. Empire hesitates, glancing at Zeke as well.

“Boys,” she coos and ruffles Kip's hair, “Don't be so formal. Mistress is fine, no need to stand on formality.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Kip replies.

Snip and Stitch move in then, leading Kip and I away from Zeke and Mistress Empire. I see the two of them settling on the couch before I walk into a short hall with several doors. I'm led to one door while Kip is led to the other. The idea of being separated from both Master and Kip raises my anxiety, but there's no way to avoid it without causing a scene. Still, I give him a quick nod and shoot the other asset a glare before he's pulled away. That way they both know that I'll be listening for sounds of distress. I hear Kip whisper, “I'm sorry about him, he's just upset,” before the door closes.

I go into the other room with Mistress Empire's asset. It's closer in size to a large closet. Walls are plain beige in color. Racks of clothing along the walls, a small bench, and a rack of items I can't identify. Makeup, maybe? Hats and shoes on the shelf beside it. The room is surprisingly well-lit, probably so all the items of clothing and accessories can be accurately identified.

I give the asset across from me a hard stare. He meets my gaze with steady hazel eyes. His posture belies calmness but his pulse tells me he's nervous. Good.

“Snip or Stitch?”

He blinks.

“Stitch.”

“Alright,” I tell him, relaxing my pose. “No sudden moves.”

He nods once and turns to the clothing rack, pulling several pieces off before turning back to me. I raise my arms with a sigh and let him help me into the top. Despite my cold treatment, his hands are professional and impersonal. He moves slowly when he approaches me with the clothes, keeping the article in plain sight before helping me into it. It gives me the impression that he has experience in dressing a range of different assets, probably including combat assets. Once he starts moving, he seems less nervous and more capable.

“The vest fits nicely,” he says, tugging on the edges of the top he put me in. “The pants are designed to be snug. It will be difficult to get you in them.”

“Difficult how?”

“We'll have to use powder to help you slip in,” he tells me as he grabs a container from the shelf.

I want to say, “You can't be serious,” but given that he's already waiting with the powder it seems like a moot point. I give him a blank stare and he shrugs in apology. After a moment, I sigh and let him approach.

Stitch dusts my legs with the white powder, then holds out the pants and lets me step in. We manage to work the garment up my legs and somehow get it buttoned, although there's no extra room between my skin and the unforgiving fabric. I have little doubt that the powder is the only thing keeping the fabric from sticking and chaffing against my skin.

The outfit is completed with boots and bracers on my arms. With the speed Stitch is moving, I don't get a good look at what I'm wearing. I try to glance down at myself, but Stitch guides my face forward to he can apply a quick coat of makeup.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “Mistress doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

I make a noise of reply. It's not like I care that much about my clothing. In another moment, Stitch is finished with the make-up and leads me back to the door. The pants are so tight that they restrict my movements, and I stumble on the first step. Stitch turns back to me, offering another apologetic shrug, and says, “Small steps.” I shoot him a glare and he says, “It gets easier,” then turns back to the door.

Across the hall, Snip and Kip are exiting as well. They lead us back into the main room and then separate us again, with Stitch leading me to the wall while Snip helps Kiplan onto a circular platform in the center of the room. Mistress Empire makes a delighted sound and gets to her feet, putting aside the champagne flute that she was holding. I see that her pleasure slave from the other night is now kneeling beside the couch – he must have served the drinks while we were out. Master remains seated, sipping from his own glass as Empire circles Kip.

“What have you created for me?” Zeke asks. Empire smiles and steps in front of Kip, eager to show off.

I take a moment to look Kip over as he spins, as Mistress Empire pauses for effect. Kip glances at himself in the full length mirror along the wall and seems surprised. It is quite different from the simple button-downs and slacks that he usually wears.

The top that Kip has on looks like an oversized belt – a tube of thick fabric running from his hips to just under his arms. The fabric seems to be some kind of leather, but it's light blue in color and I can see intricate gold stitching running through it in several curling designs. Near the bottom hem, there seems to be a small bird stitched into the pattern. Kip turns a full circle, and I see lacing gold ribbons running up the back of the top, cinching it tight. The pants that he's in are gold to match the stitching on the top. The silken fabric is tight at his waist and ankles, but flows loosely around his legs. His feet are finished with soft, blue slippers. The back of his hands are covered in fabric as well, a triangular piece that wraps from his middle finger to his wrist. It's the same blue with gold stitching as the top. Finally, his makeup has been done, with a soft coloring around his eyes and gloss applied to his lips. It makes him look young and innocent, more than he already does.

“Natural fabrics are in high demand this year. Leather is a favorite, especially hand-crafted. Everyone wants things that are fresh and natural. This is made from lamb's skin, tanned and softened to perfection.”

I expect Kip to have a negative reaction to wearing the skin of an animal, given his kind and caring personality. But he doesn't react at all, reminding me that he was a skilled domestic far longer than he's been a pleasure slave. In his cooking duties, he's familiar with the fact that animals must die for us to eat and he's probably been the cause of some of those deaths.

“I thought it would be better to have a softer look for this one, with that angelic face. So we dyed the skin a sky blue and stitched matching gold thread through it. Of course, corseting this one is a good idea. Not that he needs to look any thinner, but the strong bindings will help to give him shape. Then we accentuate the narrowness of his hips with the harem pants.” She gestures to the fabric flowing loosely around his legs. “Done in pure silk, of course, which is another popular choice this year.”

“He looks lovely,” Master Zeke compliments, rising to his feet and approaching. “This stitching is exquisite.” I see Master's fingers dip into the top, pulling at the hem. It takes me a moment to realize that he's testing the tension, making sure it isn't too tight on Kip. “Simply beautiful,” Master says, and I catch Kip lowering his gaze and blushing before Master moves back to the couch.

“Alright, next up,” she says, and gestures to me as Kip steps down. I repress a sigh and move, slowly and carefully, onto the platform.

As with Kip, she gives a moment for effect. In the full length mirror on the far wall, I can finally get a good look at the outfit that I'm wearing. Where Kip's outfit is done in blue and gold, mine is in reds and blacks. The top is a leather vest in black, crossing in the front and buttoning by my left hip. Most of my chest is left exposed, and you can see a sliver of my abdomen every time I move. The pants are deep red and uncomfortably tight all the way from top of my ass to the bottom of my ankles. They're also slung unaccountably low – so that it feels like they could fall around my knees at any second. Well, if they weren't so tight. Also, zippers. Zippers everywhere. Down the sides, along the knees, at the hips and crotch – the only place I would expect a zipper. My boots are black like the top, reaching to my ankles and somewhat resembling combat boots except for their narrowness and the slight heel at the back. The bracers on my arms are red with black trim, running from the backs of my hands almost to my elbow. A glance at my face shows that Stitch put black paint around my eyes, but otherwise left my face mostly bare.

Master speaks first this time, saying, “The two looks are quite different, aren't they?”

She laughs and says, “Well you gave me two very different canvasses to work with, didn't you? With this one,” she says, gesturing to me, “I think less is more. A vest, tight pants, boots. We certainly don't want to hide his figure. The cherry-red pants give a nice inverse to the other outfit, making them look complimentary.”

Despite the way that it feels, I have to admit that the outfit looks nice. It accentuates my slim muscles instead of hiding them, and the coloring makes me look dark and dangerous. Maybe it's not as bad as I think. Leather is a practical material – strong, durable, warm. If only I could move more freely, the outfit might work to my advantage. I nudge the zipper on my thigh, hoping that perhaps the pants can convert to shorts for more freedom of movement. But no, the zipper proves to be non-functional. There's only more pants beneath it.

“The zippers are an aesthetic choice,” Mistress Empire comments as she sees me fingering the one at my hip. “Although I would consider this a functional piece.” I don't even know how to react to that, it's so far from the truth. I can hardly move in the pants, and I take a small step forward to demonstrate. The fabric pulls me up short and groans until I halt my step. “The leather will, of course, soften and stretch as you wear it,” she assures as she sees me struggle. “We don't want it to stretch too much and lose the fit by the end of the night.”

I don't believe her. She did this on purpose so I'd be defenseless. She's planning on murdering us.

“It looks quite fetching,” Zeke compliments, because apparently being around other owners makes him just as stupid as they are.

“I wanted to make sure your zero would look sexy but also keep that dangerous edge, so I gave him an outfit he could do battle in.”

...Almost as stupid.

“I love that you've captured his edginess. He'll look gorgeous next to Kiplan. I can see how you've earned such a strong reputation. To come up with such exquisite outfits and only in a couple days. Suffice to say, genius isn't too strong of a word in this case.”

She blushes and titters, and Zeke guides her back to the couch as I step awkwardly off of the platform and join Kip along the wall. I'm grateful that he's standing, I'm not sure what would happen if I tried to sit in these pants.

“The more I see of what you've done for my assets, the more excited I am to see what you've got in store for me.”

“Oh sweetie,” she says, batting her eyelashes, “I'd much prefer to send you out naked, but that's just not in style for owners right now. And the amount of clothing I have to put on you,” she clicks her tongue in displeasure, “but that's fashion. It'll be a full suite for you. Something trim, elegant. Although I'm sure I could dress you in a circus balloon and you'd still make it look fabulous.”

“I think you might be exaggerating,” he protests.

“Not at all!” she counters. “An artist is only as good as her canvas, so I've been salivating at the thought of dressing you. I'm so glad you agreed to this transaction, I don't know what I would have done if you decided to purchase garments from some whole-sale merchant”

“Well now you've got me more than intrigued,” Master says with a grin as he climbs to his feet. “I simply can't wait.”

Mistress Empire laughs and says, “Snip and Stitch will dress you, darling. Don't be long.”

Master starts off in the direction Kip and I came from, with Stitch and Snip trailing behind him. He pauses when Mistress Empire calls him.

“Where are you going?” she asks, cocking her head to the side and still smiling flirtatiously. Master gives her a confused face.

“It was this way, wasn't it?”

“Oh no, darling. Let my boys lead you to the guest room. We can't have you changing in a closet.”

“Oh course,” Master says with a self-depreciating smile. “Lead the way, then.”

It's silent then, while Master is gone and we wait for him to return. Mistress Empire sips her champagne casually and reclines in her seat. Kip and I keep our eyes lowered, but I can feel when her attention turns toward us.

“You know,” she says, “You're both really quite lucky. You don't find a man like that every day.”

I agree with her, but probably not for the reasons she's thinking. We are very lucky to have Master Zeke, for reasons much better than his looks.

“Yes, Mistress,” Kiplan replies quietly. I hear Empire get to her feet and stalk over, then she's cupping my face and raising my chin. Up close, it's hard to miss how cold her eyes are. I might as well be a painting on the wall from the way she looks at me. Her hair is curled into blonde ringlets again, and they bounce around her face as she cocks her head and stares at me.

“You're not terribly friendly, are you?” she asks me. Her long nails bite into the skin of my face, but I don't pull away.

“Sorry, Mistress.”

She makes a, “Hm,” sound and continues looking at me. Finally, she sighs and says, “Personality of a rock, but you're certainly pretty enough. Those eyes are intense. And you,” she says, turning to Kip and dropping my chin, “are just so ordinary-looking, but that sweet face could get you anything. No wonder he's hanging onto both of you. Even I have to admit that you make a nice pair.”

She huffs and, thankfully, returns to her seat. We wait in silence for a few more moments, with me wishing I could reassure Kip but unsure of what I would say anyway. How could I be considered prettier than Kip? What kind of warped standards would choose the cold-hearted killer as more beautiful than the kind and gentle person? I can't understand it, so my only reassurance to him would be that the whole thing is stupid. Which it is, although I don't know how much comfort that would be.

Master Zeke enters again, in new clothes and trailing Snip and Stitch. Mistress Empire squeals excitedly, clapping her hands together, “Step up here and let me get a look at you.” Obligingly, Master Zeke steps onto the platform and turns a slow circle.

She's gone for a much more classical look with Master Zeke. He's in a full suit – long pants and a jacket, all in white. The edges are trimmed with gold to match Kip's colors, and his shoulders are draped in a red cape to match mine. The white brings out his fair complexion, and the gold trim almost matches his hair. The red cape at his shoulders contrasts with his blue eyes, making them stand out. If there's any makeup on his face, it's done naturally enough that I can't tell. White gloves are on his hands, so that nearly every inch of his body is covered except for his face. Rather than hiding his form, it seems to tease with it, like a covered statue. Gold boots finish the outfit, reaching almost to his knee. There's a thick black sole on the bottom along with a small heel, and with how light the rest of the outfit is, it almost looks like Master Zeke isn't touching the floor.

“Like a knight from ancient Earth,” Mistress Empire croons, covering her cheeks with her hands. “You look simply dashing, darling.”

It's true. As little as I understand about the standards of beauty, Master Zeke looks impressive. Strong, pure and noble all wrapped up into a tall, athletic package. It's possible that his beauty far surpasses his assets' looks. I don't really know how to feel about that, other than being apathetic to the entire concept. Does it devalue us, that Master Zeke is more handsome than either Kip or myself? Or are we used to highlight Master Zeke's appearance? The entire concept is alien to me, so I can't comprehend the tactical plan that Zeke is using with us. It's enough that I trust him to use us to his best ability.

“No leather on mine?” he asks, looking at his gloved hands. The white of his outfit is so bright that he'll stain it if he sets foot outside of the living areas of the ship. Dust, dirt, and blood will all immediately ruin it.

“The boots are gold-plated leather, the cape is lined with silk. But, no, the rest is done in a blend of cotton that I grow myself.”

“Impressive,” Master compliments with a smile.

“I'll have to show you through my gardens sometime.” She pauses, then says, “Alright, we'd better get these clothes packed for transport.”

Like a switch, Stitch and Snip return to Kip and me. Without the need for an element of surprise this time, they simply start removing articles of clothing where we stand. The pieces go into two large boxes, carefully folded and wrapped in delicate paper. I hear Kip and Snip talking softly about the storage and maintenance of the clothes. In only a few moments, Kip and I are completely naked again.

When they finish with us, Snip and Stitch kneel in front of Master Zeke. I notice that he's doing something on his Key – probably authorizing payment for this, now that I think about it. Mistress Empire is a business woman, there's no way this was free. Or cheap.

When Master finishes and looks up, Stitch asks, “May we remove your clothing, Owner Price?”

Master glances at Magdelene with a, “Do you mind?” expression, and she verbally responds with, “Oh darling, don't be shy on my account.” Master nods at the assets, who get to their feet and carefully begin to disassemble and pack his outfit. The process is slower with Master, partially because the assets move more carefully and partially because his outfit is simply more complex.

By the time Master is fully naked, Mistress Empire is openly leering at his form. I don't know much about interactions between owners – or people in general, actually – but it definitely seems like she'd like to have sex with Master Zeke. I get the feeling that there's something holding her back from actually doing it, though. Possibly a rule of decorum that I'm not aware of, or maybe just professionalism in this business transaction. Regardless, it's obvious that she wants Master Zeke, even if something is holding her back from actually attempting to have sex with him.

Finally, she clears her throat and says, “Before we return your clothes to you, I was wondering if you could do something for me? A personal request, if you will.”

“Oh?” Master asks, his tone inquisitive but I can see the wariness in his stance.

“Well, you see,” she says coyly, “My pleasure asset has been awfully naughty lately. I was wondering if you could... teach him a lesson?”

Master's face goes perfectly still and blank. Outwardly, there's no sign of the change, but I know him well enough to sense the different. His eyes remain completely still, when they're usually constantly moving. Master hesitates long enough that I suspect he's making sure his voice is neutral as well, then asks, “What kind of a lesson?”

“I was thinking,” she says with a grin, equal parts synthetic shyness and genuine lust, “a sexual lesson.”

Master hesitates again, but this pause isn't as long as the last one. Did he think that Mistress Magdelene wanted him to hurt the asset? Master takes his physical discipline very seriously, it seems logical that he would be reluctant to strike an asset that he isn't familiar with.

“Well,” Master says after another brief pause, “I wouldn't want to disappoint.”

The man on the floor rises gracefully. He's naked already. His shoulders are relaxed, his movements smooth and calm, but his eyes flick across Master Zeke's naked form nervously. His eyes land on Master's cock and I see his breath hitch before he calms himself. I don't blame him. Even soft, Master is impressive.

Master gestures, and the asset approaches despite his fear. Master takes the brunette's hand, guiding him near. Master gestures to a nearby table – a heavy metal structure scattered with fabrics and sewing implements. Stitch and Snip move in quickly and clear the table. Master nods his appreciation to the two assets as Snip moves unobtrusively to put things away and Stitch kneels beside Mistress Empire. When the pleasure slave moves toward the table, Master pulls him up short and swings him around.

“Take a moment,” Master says softly. “We're in no rush.”

“Yes, sir,” the asset says quietly, his head lowered. Master tips his chin gently, looks him in the eyes. I can't tell from here what color they are, but I know from our night at the bar that they're green. He's traded in the hoop earrings for sensible studs, his dark hair still falling in wavy pieces around his face. It seems that Mistress Empire likes to surround herself with similar assets – all three are tall and lean, with dark hair and green or hazel eyes. In comparison, Master is almost the total opposite, muscular and light-haired. Still, the open look of lust on Mistress Empire's face proves that her tastes are, apparently, varied when it comes to men.

Master doesn't kiss the asset. It surprises me, because Master always begins his trysts with us through kissing. Instead, he leans over and sucks at the base of the asset's throat, where his shoulder meets his collar bone, just under the black ring around his neck. The asset gasps in surprise – apparently this move is entirely unexpected. Master's hand dips down to the asset's slim cock and the man tries to shy away, but he's blocked by the heavy metal table behind them. Master fingers the asset's cock, gently stroking along the soft length until it hardens. The brunette makes a mewling sound as Master milks him, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head until it comes away trailing a glistening strand of precome.

Master pulls his hand away from the asset's cock. Snip moves in during the pause, placing a small jar of lubricant on the table behind them. Master Zeke dips his fingers in the jar, stroking the slick liquid along his cock until it hardens fully. The asset takes a shaky breath as he views the full length and girth of Master's cock, but he doesn't try to shy away again. Instead, he takes this as his cue to move things along. He pushes himself onto the table, sitting with his ass at the edge and obviously expecting Master Zeke to fuck his hole like that. He doesn't know Zeke very well, though, because Master rarely does what's expected.

Instead, Master Zeke moves around to the side of the table and guides the asset to the center and then to his knees. When the asset is on all fours, Master pushes his shoulders down, so that his ass is raised high and exposed. Master fingers his hole like that, and I hear Mistress Magdelene gasp and then give a low, feminine groan. I glance over and see that she's still on the couch, her legs spread, with an asset – presumably Stitch – kneeling under her skirt. Whatever Stitch is doing between her legs makes her buck her hips, but her eyes stay pinned on Master Zeke as his fingers disappear into her asset's body, first one and then two together. The asset on the table is panting now, moving his hips in tiny, aborted jerks as he suppresses the urge to thrust.

I feel a thrill of lust watching Master Zeke and this unknown man interact. I've been in that position, coming undone under Zeke's skilled fingers, feeling like I might die under the tide of pleasure. I have to suppress those memories, though. Being naked, there will be no way to hide if I become aroused. I glance at Kip, who has averted his eyes as he stands next to me, but I have better control than Kip. I take a breath, calming the circulation in my body, and I feel the pressure in my groin abate.

I return my eyes to the two forms ahead just as Master shifts position. His arm wraps under the asset's hips and he pulls the asset back. The brunette gives a startled gasp and jerks his head around, thinking that he's about the fall off the table, but Master lowers him gently. When Master pulls his arm away, the asset is bent over the table, his head and arms resting on the table top, Master bracketing him from behind. Master places his hands on the asset's hips and lines his cock up with the slim man's hole. I see the brunette tense, expecting Master to thrust in violently, but Master gives a slow push, stopping before he's more than half seated.

Then Master pauses, letting the asset adjust. Master runs his hands down the man's back, rocking his hips gently with shallow thrusts. Still, the man is panting, obviously trying to control his body. He's experienced enough to know that tensing up will only make it worse, but not experienced enough to take a cock that size without pain. Master is patient, though, and waits until the asset's shoulders relax to begin thrusting in earnest. Even then, I can see the way he holds the asset away from himself, making it look like he's thrusting all the way when he's actually keeping a couple inches out. I've been in that position, too, while Master was training me. It had been a contingency plan in case I was not ready to take Master's cock by the time he needed me to perform.

Master's pace is still slow and unhurried, far from the demanding thrusts he would make if he were approaching orgasm. The man on the table seems to be adjusting to the slow rhythm, and his body relaxes as Master keeps the steady pace. That seems to be what Master is looking for, because at an unknown signal Master removes his cock from the asset's hole and steps back. The asset throws an uncertain look over his shoulder, his eyes questioning and almost fearful, but Master smiles in response and signals for the asset to turn on his back. There's a heartbeat of hesitation, then the asset is turning uncertainly, awkwardly trying to figure out how Master wants him positioned. Master steps in once the asset is on his back, guiding the brunette's hips to the edge of the table, pushing the man's legs until his heels rest on the edge of the table.

Master seats his cock again and stills, but this time he's not waiting for the asset to adjust. Instead, Master's hand goes to the man's cock, stroking the half-hardened member back into full arousal. The asset throws his head back, moaning low and deep, his toes curling as his legs tense against the table. Master teases him at first, stroking gently with two fingers and running his thumb around the crown. It doesn't last long, though, and Master fists the man's cock with determination, giving it firm, even strokes. The man on the table makes a choking noise and bucks his hips. His face is a mix of shock and ecstasy – apparently he wasn't expecting to get off during this encounter. He comes quickly enough to make me think he hasn't achieved an orgasm in a while, and his glistening white seed spurts out of his cock and runs down the side of Master's closed fist. Master milks the man's cock for a few seconds, then removes his fist. He raises his hand to the asset's face, and the asset obediently licks his own come from my Master's hand.

Once the appendage is clean, Master lifts the brunette's legs onto his shoulders and pushes his cock deeper inside. These aren't the fake, shallow thrusts of earlier. Now that the man's body is relaxed and pliant from his orgasm, Master Zeke begins giving him stronger, more determined strokes. The asset takes them easily now, his head rolling as he's overwhelmed with pleasure. His cock gives another spent little jerk, a token drop of semen pooling at the tip, but the asset isn't able to orgasm a second time. It's evident that he wants to, though. Now that he's relaxed, Master's deep strokes seem to arouse him even more. Master is quickly approaching orgasm, leaning over the asset until the brunette is nearly bent in two. His thrusts become quicker and jerkier as he nears his completion. The asset pants beneath him, his face reddened and glistening with sweat, his softening cock bouncing against his abdomen. Master groans, signaling that he's almost there. In another moment, he thrusts in hard then abruptly pulls out. His cock sends rivulets of pearly white come spraying over the brunette asset's body, some landing on the man's groin and other dots covering his flaccid cock. Master gives a soft groan, milking the last few drops of fluid from his cock with his fist.

As if on cue, Mistress Magdelene gives a high shriek, pulling my attention away from the pair on the table. Her hand is pushing down hard on the covered shape of Stitch's head between her legs, her face contorted with pleasure. She throws her head back and her eyes roll, then her entire body goes tense as she whines in ecstasy. Finally, after several seconds, her orgasm subsides and she drops back to the couch. In another moment, Stitch climbs out from under her skirt, his lips wet and glistening.

By the time I look back, Master has stepped away from the brunette asset. Snip hands Master a towel to clean himself with, while the brunette lies on the table and tries to catch his breath, his legs dangling over the side of the table. He sits up a few moments later, then stands shakily. Master's seed coats the insides of his thighs and trails down his legs. His pupils are still blown, his eyes unfocused. He seems almost drugged, unsteady and uncertain. One hand grips the edge of the table like he doesn't trust his legs to support him, even as he turns to face Master Zeke. Master gives an indulgent smile, brushes a sweaty lock of hair from the asset's face.

“It looks like I've overwhelmed your asset a bit,” Master says to Mistress Empire, still sitting lethargically on the couch. “I think a hot shower and a long nap are deserved.”

“Hmm,” Mistress says in a sleepy voice, waving her hand at Stitch. “Help him to his quarters. Let him sleep it off.”

Stitch moves to the asset and guides him from the room. Master glances at Kip and I, then gestures at our clothing. We begin to redress now that we're sure we won't be called upon to join in the sexual display. Snip presents Master with his clothing, holding up an article like he means to dress Master, but Zeke makes a dismissive gesture and dresses himself.

By the time he's finished, Mistress Empire is just starting to recover herself, running her fingers through her hair to straighten it. Master smiles charmingly and says, “I want to thank you for your hospitality and your efforts. Could I contact you again if I'm in need of any more assistance?”

“Oh darling,” she says, her voice still husky, her eyes half-lidded, “You can contact me for anything.”

Master steps toward her and bows, then takes her proffered hand and kisses the back of it, letting his lips linger while he meets her eyes.

“Then I will take my leave of you, ma'am. I'm sure I'll see you again at the Arcrest Manor before the week is out. Until then, my life will be devoid of your stunning beauty.”

Mistress Empire laughs and pulls her hand away. “Too charming,” she teases, but Master is already moving toward the exit and he only throws a flirtatious smile over his shoulder. Kip and I follow him back toward the jump-ship. We pass Snip in the hall and he bows as we pass. It's only as we arrive at the ship that I realize he was loading our outfits into the jump-ships storage compartment.

On the ride back to our ship, Master Zeke dozes in the copilot chair. He seems exhausted. Even I feel worn out despite doing virtually nothing during our visit. Kip is quiet in his seat toward the back, and the lines between his eyes tell me that he's fighting the start of a migraine. I might have to fake a limp for a few days before the party, just to prompt Master's search for a medical scholar while he's at Owner Arcrest's party. I'm hesitant to do it because Master will almost certainly restrict my training, but Kip's continued cycle of pain and self-medication has me worried.

I cast my eyes toward Zeke's sleeping form beside me. He has me worried as well, although for different reasons. I still don't know what's going on with him, why he feels the need to create such a farce in front of the other owners that he would teach his assets how to perform. Or perhaps that's how all pleasure assets function, by taking what they can and faking what they can't. I have no way of knowing.

And what of his behavior with Mistress Empire, the way he flirted with no signs of genuine interest? What use could that behavior serve? But then, I have no knowledge of Master Zeke's true intentions, so there's no way for me to rationalize his tactics. For all I know, Empire might be a key player in his plans. I have no way of knowing unless he decides to tell me or I decide to find out. Master Zeke seems unlikely to tell me the truth after so long of hiding it from me, but finding out on my own could imperil my position as well as Kip's. The best course of action would be to wait and gather intel without actively breaking Zeke's trust, but that's becoming harder and harder to do.

The more I see Master Zeke in the presence of other Owners, the more I think that he's hiding something that I won't like when it's revealed.

I cast another look at Master's sleeping form, then a longer look at Kip where he's dozing behind me. If Kip weren't a clone, they might look like brothers. But where Kip is angelic and frail, Zeke is handsome and broad. Even in the relative safety and privacy of our craft, I can feel my protective instincts surge around both of them. I would kill for these two. Can I bring myself to betray Master by digging into secrets I know he wants to keep hidden from me? Can I crush these fledgling feelings of attachment I have for my Master out of necessity? If I break Master's trust, will I jeopardize Kip's life as well?

My hands tighten on the ship's controls, and I realize that I'm not willing to take that risk.

Not unless I have to.


	7. Menage a Trois - Zeke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I know this one is late but it is hot off the presses - and I mean HOT. Like, I-think-I-made-Akira-late-for-work Hot. (Sorry Akira!) Also, HOT as in much sexiness. :) I want to thank you all for your awesome reviews - if I haven't had a chance to respond to you yet, I apologize and I am working on it. I have been struggling to get chapter 10 out to my betas, so I have been focusing on that and I got behind on my comments. But please don't think they aren't appreciated! I have read and loved every one of them! Seriously, you guys keep me motivated. 
> 
> Speaking of motivation, my beta team has been just epic lately. I can't emphasize enough that these ladies are volunteers and I appreciate what they do SO much. All my gratitude to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, InterpidEm, and Ygrainne. They are THE BEST.

Zero manages to get through to Kiplan in a way that I never could. By the end of the week, he thinks Kip is ready to attempt taking my cock. I'm skeptical, but I bow to Zero's authority on the matter.

I haven't seen much of them in the past few days, other than our quick trip to see Madgelene. Zero has been preoccupied with his own training and trying to help Kip in his sexual lessons. Kip has been busy with his cooking and cleaning, as well as his encounters with Zero. He is still nervous around me, and I can't help but wonder if he seems more nervous, or if my own perception is making it seem that way. Things haven't gotten better since taking Zero to the Line, that's for certain.

I've been preoccupied as well, trying already to maneuver myself in the Leash. I've had three conversations with James Peterson after the promised bottle of antique wine was delivered, and he's eager to use my connections to get more Earth-made products. It's a sketchy venture, something that could net me a decent amount of money, but a risky play given at the Earth council frowns on exporting goods en masse. Given that I haven't been to Earth since I was a child, I don't have much leverage with them. Still, it might be worth the risk if the partnership with James Peterson seemed worth my effort, but I'm starting to question that. After my interactions with the other owners, it's starting to look like James Peterson isn't just new money, he's new money and no influence. That's not the kind of alliance I need to make, so I put him off with an assurance that I'll check my stores and see what I have available.

As much as I'm dreading it, the party coming up in just a few days seems like a golden opportunity to start feeling out and making alliances. The party is being hosted by Dillon Arcrest, an enigmatic champion. My instincts scream that this man is dangerous even to befriend, but I don't see a way around it. I'd rather have him as a friend than an enemy. If it turns out that he is the Controller, then getting close to him would be my best plan. If it doesn't get me killed.

There will be at least two other champions at the gathering – Vikram Bjorn and Ellaine Castillo. I'm wary of Vikram simply because of his relation to the dealer Petir, who assaulted Zero during our first meeting. Ellaine is a Champion in scholarly assets, so it would be beneficial for me to get close to her if I’d like to gain access to a medical asset from her stock. I need to have Zero’s hip looked at and the damage assessed if I have any interest in competing him as a combat asset. I wouldn’t mind having Kip looked over as well - with his pale complexion and frail body, he usually looks ill even if he rarely complains. If I want him to have any hope of being reliable under the stress of a Competition, he must gain some endurance. Ideally, a medical asset will be able to help build up Kip’s strength in a way that I’ve been unable to. A medical asset might also be able to help with future assets, given that so far my assets have come to me in poor condition. 

   I’d also like to see what I can find out about Ellaine’s political connections. Her father holds a high political position on Satellite 30, although my research has managed to turn up no links between her father and the Leash. Ellaine herself is known for her charitable acts – she runs several shelters and halfway houses for at risk youths on a number of different Satellites. Now that I know her connection to the Leash, I don't have to guess at the rate of unexplained disappearances from her sanctuaries. What I don't know is whether she's working as a lone agent or if she's acting on her father's instructions.

I rub my temples and try to clear my head. I can't be thinking of these things while I'm trying to work with Zero and Kip. Nor can these thoughts be on my mind while I'm with the other owners, or it will be impossible to act naturally. I have to put these thoughts away and focus on the task at hand.

The playroom is still something of a trigger for Kip, and I can't so much as mention it without having him go deathly still and pale. Ideally it's something that he'll gradually get over, but at the moment it's not conducive to a learning environment. Zero moves all the equipment he needs for Kip's lessons from the playroom to the Master bedroom, then moves it back after the session. For today's attempt, however, he chose a more neutral location. So instead of heading toward the bedroom, I find myself opening the door to the garden and stepping into the artificial sunlight.

The first thing that strikes me every time I enter the garden is just how big it is. Even with the lavishness of the rest of the ship, the open ceiling of the garden makes it seems like stepping out of a tunnel and into the open air. I step past the cafe tables that are closest to the door – the same tables where I spoke with Petir only a few weeks ago, when Zero was still my only asset. High on the far wall, I can see the area where the Master bedroom overlooks the garden, the windows perfectly camouflaged with the rest of the white, domed walls. I step away from the cafe area, down a step and into the grass. There's a thick layer of grass planted into the hydroponic system in the floor, making a lush carpet of plants. There are a scattering of flowering trees and fragrant flowers planted artfully in their own hydroponic containers, giving the illusion of a natural meadow. I know that Kip maintains this room, along with the vegetable gardens beyond this room. I take a deep breath and enjoy the scent of the flowers, turn my face toward the soft rays of artificial sunlight. I'm feeling a bit more relaxed already.

I find Kip and Zero in the shade of a flowering tree, lying together on a thick blanket on the grass. The ventilation system creates a soft breeze here that ruffles and grass and sways the limbs of the tree. A scattering of white flower petals fall around them, with a few of them sticking in Kip's golden locks. Zero is on his back, with Kiplan straddling his hips and bouncing on his cock. Kip's eyes are closed, his head thrown back in pleasure, his mouth slightly open as he pants. His cock is hard and dripping between his legs, tapping against Zero's stomach as Kip bounces.

I approach slowly, keeping my footsteps light. Zero notices right away, his eyes flicking to me and then back to Kip. I stop a short distance from the blanket, toeing off my shoes and shrugging out of my clothes. The blades of grass curl between my toes as I leave my clothes in a pile on the ground. Stepping onto the blanket, I finally catch Kip's attention. He gives a slight start at my sudden approach, then smiles slowly and continues his rocking motion. Beneath him, Zero's thumbs trace circles on Kip's hips.

“Master,” Kip acknowledges, then gasps softly and turns his eyes from me as Zero thrusts his hips, jarring Kip's motion. I kneel next to them, taking a moment just to watch Kip move. He's beautiful like this, wanton and relaxed. The natural setting suites him, makes him look almost fay with his petite looks and his pale skin. His eyes glitter in the warm rays, the light streaming through the tree leaves creates speckled patterns on his skin.

He's still too thin, though. It's hard to miss when he's like this, with the shadow of his ribs playing across his torso and with his wrists looking so delicate against Zero's more muscular form. There's a fine line between petite and frail, and he's toeing the edge of the wrong side. I repress a sigh. He eats healthily, although he seems to have little appetite most times. I'm hesitant to augment his diet with supplements and enhancements, given that they could easily overcompensate and make him look bloated or chubby. Similarly, I can't send him to exercise with Zero, because I have little doubt that Kip's supple limbs would tone into whipcord muscles, still ruining the porcelain style that suites him so well.

I shake the thought away. This isn't the time to be contemplating Kip's looks or his value as a strategic piece. I reach a hand out and push a golden lock of hair behind his ear. He smiles and blushes, ducking his head in embarrassment. He really is such a sweet thing.

“Do you want him to suck you?” Zero asks me. Kips blush darkens as I nod and Zero shifts. Kip slides off Zero's cock and onto his knees. I palm my cock as Zero moves behind him, already half-hard from watching them. Kip gasps as Zero thrusts back into him from behind. I go to my knees in front of Kip. He's hesitant at first, his tongue peeking out to lick teasingly at the tip. I groan but hold myself still and patient. Kip rewards me a moment later, opening his mouth and taking me deep. I shut my eyes and let my hands go to his shoulders, feeling the way his body moves with Zero's thrusts.

“He's been practicing,” Zero says, and moves his hand to the back of Kip's head. “Let us show you,” he continues, then pushes Kip's head down. My cock goes deep, hits the back of Kip's throat, and I resist the urge to pull back and give him room to breathe. Kip stills, then surprises me by pushing further, taking me deeper, without struggling. It's slow and not as effortless as Zero makes it seem – actually, I can almost visibly see Kiplan focus on breathing through his nose and suppressing his gag reflex – but it's a leap from where he was only a week ago. He takes most of my length, stopping only a finger-width from the bottom. He bobs his head gently, but just can't manage that last small part before he has to pull back to keep himself from choking. His throat slides around me, warm and soft as velvet against my skin. He makes a gasping noise as my cock leaves his mouth and his eyes are bright with tears from the effort, but he gives me another shy smile.

“Fantastic improvement,” I compliment, and run a gentle hand through his hair.

“Zero's a good teacher,” Kip responds, his voice just a touch hoarse.

“Kip wanted to learn,” Zero dissents, “He put in the effort. I just guided him the best I could.”

Guided him in ways that I couldn't, I think to myself. Got him to relax and learn rather than being terrified all the time. Somehow got his confidence up at least to the level that he's no longer shaking with fear the moment sex is mentioned. It's a huge improvement, and I owe Zero a lot for making it happen.

Kip's head lowers again, swallowing my cock down to the same level again, and I groan with pleasure. It's a shorter bob this time, and Kip's head barely pauses at the bottom before pulling away again. Kip repeats this gesture a few more times, before Zero asks, “Are you ready to let him try, Master?”

I nod once and we untangle from each other, Zero pulling out of Kip's ass and me moving away from his mouth. I glance to Zero and he motions for me to lie back, so I move until I'm in the same position Zero was earlier. Kiplan straddles me, and Zero puts his hands on Kip's hips to help guide him. Slowly, Kip lowers himself onto my cock, stalling only when he's halfway down. It's an improvement already.

“Don't push yourself,” I warn. Kips eyes flick to mine – almost crystalline silver in the sunlight – but his concentration is focused on his body and not my words. He bounces himself gently, sending a thrill of pleasure through me. I have the urge to flip our positions, to push him onto his back and press myself into his warm, yielding body, but I suppress it. It would hurt him, and I would never bring him unnecessary pain.

“Pushing himself is kind of the point,” Zero counters. He's kneeling next to me and I flick my eyes to him. As counterpoint to Kip's light eyes, Zero's eyes look almost black in imitation sunlight, with only the faintest hint of metallic gray. Zero's cock is still hard, bobbing beside my face and glistening with slick. I reach out and slide one finger along the underside from base to tip, then take a moment to rub my thumb against the sensitive head. Zero gasps and shivers, his cock bobbing excitedly, then shoots me a glare. “This is no time to be distracted,” he informs me. I chuckle and pull my hand away, wiping my sticky fingers on the blanket.

“Don't hurt yourself is what I meant,” I inform Kip, and I catch him watching Zero and me with amusement before his face clears, his concentration returning to the task at hand.

“Yes, sir. I will be careful,” Kip promises and resumes his teasing movements on my cock. I give a short groan, knowing that he's trying to get his body to open up to my cock but feeling like he's purposefully tormenting me. The impulse to surge up into him tugs at me again, and I have to still his hips while I get control of myself.

“You're too tempting for me,” I tease Kip when I'm finally able to release his hips and let him resume his movements.

“I'm sorry, Master,” he says, but the cheeky smile on his face makes me think otherwise. Then his face clears as he focuses again, and I can feel him willing his body to relax, but it still can't manage to take the rest of my girth.

“Let me help,” Zero offers. He's still kneeling beside me, and he leans over Kip and takes Kip's cock into his mouth. Kip lets out a startled moan, and I feel him slide just a bit further down my cock. Zero's very skilled at sucking cock, and he manages to move with Kip's body so that Kip is able to keep rocking against my cock even while Zero sucks him.

“Don't let him come,” I warn Zero, who is too occupied to respond. Kip whimpers but doesn't make any noises to indicate that he's getting close, so I assume that Zero means to obey me. As we continue for several minutes, Kip's cries and moans get more desperate. He rocks himself with determination, but somehow his body refuses to yield the last small distance.

I'm all but ready to admit defeat when Zero pulls away from Kip's weeping cock. He takes a moment to look at where Kip and I are joined, his eyes taking in the inch or so left before Kiplan's hips will grind against my pelvis, and then stands and straddles me, one foot on either side of my head. He has to bend nearly in half to be face-to-face with Kip, who's still kneeling on my cock. I'm not sure what to expect from Zero's new strategy, and I certainly don't expect him to gently take Kip's face in his hands and kiss him on the lips. From my vantage point below them I can see Kip's eyes flutter shut, can see the way his entire body leans into the kiss. For a moment, he forgets everything except the way Zero's lips feel against his own.

And in that moment, his body relaxes and he slides the rest of the way down my cock.

I give a laugh that's half shock and half delight, utterly breaking the moment for Kip and Zero. They don't seem to mind, though, and Kip gives a similar laugh to my own when he realizes that he's finally succeeded in accepting my cock. Zero gives a knowing smirk, but he seems pleased as well.

“How does it feel?” I ask Kip.

“It's- ah...” he trails, panting a bit and then giving another soft chuckle. “It's big. It feels... big.”

I laugh as I say, “Well, it certainly is that. No pain?”

“No.” He pauses. “It's just a stretch. It doesn't hurt.”

He casts a grateful glance at Zero. I can't blame him. At the beginning of the week, this task had seemed all but impossible to accomplish. I understand that I had a small part in this as well – that by training Zero and showing him the tools to prepare Kip, I was also an active but invisible force in this process. Still, Zero was the lynchpin. He was able to get through to Kip and build up his confidence without frightening him into a backward step. Finally, it seems like we're making the smallest bit of progress with him.

“Finish what you've started,” I tell him with another teasing smile, “then you can show Zero how grateful you are.”

“Yes, sir,” he responds as Zero steps back and kneels to watch us.

Kip's movements are stilted and hesitant at first. His body has accepted me, but he seems surprised that it doesn't mean this is easy. He pulls himself up just the smallest amount and then settles back down on my cock with a grunt of exertion.

“Just roll your hips until you're ready to move,” I guide him. “Give yourself time to adjust. There's a big difference between my cock and Zero's.”

He nods once, his face serious with concentration. He rolls his hips, forcing a surprised gasp of pleasure out of me. His body is so tight around me. It's not something I allowed myself to enjoy earlier, when I still thought that all Kip's efforts were only teasing me and he'd eventually have to pull off. Now that I'm fully seated, I can feel every move and tremble of his body. I moan, my hands settling lightly on his hips, steadying him without guiding. He rocks and the slide of his tight body around my cock nearly puts me over. I'm not used to being so overwhelmed, but Kip's body is so tight and untried that it milks my cock in a way I'm not used to and have no defense against. His submission to me, which has been so long awaited and hard earned, makes it all the sweeter.

It doesn't take long for Kip to find a rhythm. He still isn't able to move more than a couple inches on my cock, but his motions become quicker and more determined. I know he can feel the way my cock hardens inside him, how the pleasure builds inside me. He's panting now, and my grip on his hips is tighter although I still let him guide his own movement. I'm helpless not to thrust my hips against him now, although I try to move with him and I keep my thrusts shallow, remembering that he's still inexperienced. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zero crawl toward me, but I'm too focused on my own pleasure to pay much attention. When my orgasm hits, I throw my head back, only to find it pillowed on Zero's lap. His mouth descends to meet mine, swallowing my scream of pleasure. I hear Kiplan gasp and groan as I pull him down onto my cock, filling him with my hot seed. I groan into Zero's mouth, feeling my cock twitch inside Kip with the aftershocks of pleasure.

It takes several seconds for me to recover myself, and Kip waits patiently. When I'm able, I grin and gesture for him to dismount. He pushes off of me with a grimace, and I think he's probably sore until I notice him eyeing the mess between his thighs distastefully.

“You'll just have to get used to that,” I tell him with a chuckle. Zero tosses me a rag to wipe my own cock off with, but I don't offer it to Kip. There's no point at the moment. “You did wonderfully. Now, why don't you show Zero your appreciation for all his teaching? On all fours,” I tell him, gesturing for Zero to step behind.

The truth is that I could just as easily get Zero off myself, or leave him without any orgasm. But I have the sudden urge to see the two of them together, to see how beautifully they move together. So I cross my legs and settle on the blanket, watching as Zero kneels behind Kip and thrusts deep in one smooth movement. Kip gasps, but he doesn't flinch or pull away. Unlike my shallow, gentle movements, Zero pulls all the way back out, then thrusts forward again until his balls smack against Kip's thighs. Despite the harsh treatment, Kip groans in pleasure. Hmm. I'll have to remember that. With an average-sized cock, Kip seems to enjoy getting fucked hard. And Zero, as he sets a punishing pace, is more than willing to oblige. The smack of Zero's testicles against Kip's skin sets a steady rhythm, and Kip moans and writhes below Zero. Zero's fast and deep pace means that it's only a few minutes before Zero finds his pleasure, groaning deeply as Kip lets out a guttural scream of pleasure. Zero thrusts forward, pushing Kip until he overbalances and falls to his stomach.

Zero doesn't need as long to recover as I did. Soon, he pulls out of Kip, his cock still twitching and dripping semen across Kip's thighs. I toss him the towel to clean up, and move toward Kip as Zero backs away. I nudge my foot against Kip's hip and he rolls over. He looks just as wrecked as I'd hoped: his face is red with exertion, his chest heaving as he pants. His cock is swollen and dripping between his legs, irritated from the extended period of stimulation without orgasm. He flops onto his back, his pleasure-hazed eyes seeking my face. He stares at me, helpless and desperate for release.

I choose to be benevolent, because that face is too fucking sweet for me to torment any longer.

I lay on my stomach in front of him, my head between his legs. He bends his knees instinctively, his legs falling open to expose his cock. His hole glistens with lubricant, red and irritated but with no signs of actual damage. I flick my tongue against the crown of his cock while I plow three fingers into his ass. He screams and arches beneath me, his cock jerking in my mouth. I taste the bitter salt of precome and know that Kip won't last long. I thrust my fingers again, curling them as I pull them back out. His feet scrabble to find purchase on the blanket as he jerks beneath me, his hips thrusting uselessly as I move with him, keeping my mouth at a teasing distance. It seems cruel, but I want to give him this. I want him to experience pleasure so intense that he thinks he might go mad. It's the least I can do after all he's sacrificing for my mission.

Kip makes another noise, high and desperate. I glance to his face and see that there are tears in his eyes, and maybe even a few that have spilled down his cheeks. It's hard to tell with the way he's gasping and sweating, arching his hips and thrashing his head desperately. Just to hear him scream, I curl my fingers and swallow him to the root. He rewards me with a sharp, high squeal and another taste of salty come. His cock twitches in my mouth, desperate for friction. I lathe the underside with my tongue as I pull back, then lower my head again to the base. He gives a sob and I see Zero settle at his head, cradling his shoulders, and lean over to wipe a few stray tears from Kip's cheeks. I stay still as Zero leans forward and gives Kip a soft, chaste kiss. Kip meets it, but I hear him sob against Zero's mouth. His hips twitch still, unable to stay still even with my restraining grip.

Then Zero pulls his head back, which is smart because in the next moment I cup Kip's balls, causing his head to jerk forward in a manner that would have made them crack heads, if Zero's were still in the way. There's a small smile playing on Zero's lips as he watches us, watches Kip come undone under my skilled fingers. Maybe it's only because I know him so well, that I can see the happiness reflected in those almost-black eyes, that I can see a hint of a smile on the otherwise stoic face. Would anyone else even see it? But then I see Kip's eyes wander to Zero's face, and I know that even in the haze of his own pleasure, he sees it too.

I wrap my hand around the base of Kip's cock. Zero's hands move to Kip's shoulders, preparing to restrain him when the pleasure hits. Kip's mouth falls open and he takes shallow, heaving breaths. I keep my grip loose, but I swallow him to the base and suck, working my throat to massage him even as my hand holds his base to keep him from choking me. Orgasm hits him almost immediately, and I swallow the hot semen that pours down my throat. Kip screams, and Zero has to use both hands to pin him as he tries to fold in half, the muscles in his abdomen pulling uncontrollably taut as pleasure rips through him. I keep working my throat, milking every last drop of pleasure from Kip until he's just a shivering, sobbing mess in Zero's lap.

We lay there for several minutes, just enjoying the warm light and the breeze from the ventilation system. Long enough that Kip starts to doze, even with the mess between his thighs. Eventually, it's Zero who reaches out and strokes my arm, nodding to Kip's drowsing form that prompts me to move. I know that if Kip sleeps for too long like that, he'll wake up abominably sore. So I stand and Zero hands me Kip – who's still too light by half, with too many bones jutting against me uncomfortably – and he gathers up the blanket before following me out. Kip stirs in my arms but settles down after blinking blearily at me for a few seconds. I take him to the Master bedroom and, predictably, settle him into a hot bath. He'll need that to keep the soreness away from his muscles, just as he'll need the massage I plan to give him afterwards.

Zero steps into the tub beside us. Kip is still lethargic and exhausted, his face pale and pinched from the exertion. I help wash him and he even attempts to bat me away, trying to get me to let him go to sleep. I chuckle lightly pull him against me, too happy with his progress to break this moment. Zero slides in on my other side, curling his muscular form against my side. All the stresses of my current life, all the lies that I'm living, seem to fall away when these two are calm and content in my arms. I lean my cheek against Kip's forehead and watch his eyelids flutter, trying but unable to rouse enough to open them. I hear Zero chuckle and glance over to see that he's watching Kip too. His metallic eyes meet mine, and then he leans up and meets my lips in a quick kiss.

In this moment, all that matters in my world is keeping these two safe.

I would do anything to protect them.

 


	8. Arcrest Manor - Kip POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No big notes this time - I'm late to go see Dr Strange. :) So excited!
> 
> Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways are, as always, the best I could ever ask for. I just have to give them my appreciation once again.

“I don't know why you're so nervous,” Zero says as he pilots us to the Arcrest manor. “You've been here before. You know what's going to happen.” I have no reply, but still I'm nervous.

It's true. This is not my first time at Owner Arcrest's annual hunt. To be honest, it's probably closer to the tenth time I've been here than the first. I've already explained in excruciating detail to Zero and Master Zeke what happens at the party, what the timeline of events is, and how the guests and assets are expected to behave. I've been through this routine before, and I doubt that it has changed significantly in the year that I've been absent. However, my attendance in years past was always as a domestic, never as a pleasure asset. It's like being on the other side of the glass in a fish tank, and I can't help fearing that I'll be constantly watched and judged.

Despite his comment, Zero doesn't seem to be doing much better than I am as far as nervousness is concerned. He holds the controls to the jumpship like he thinks they might jerk out of his hands, and he won't even look at Master Zeke. When I told him that they separate the assets from the owners while the hunt takes place, he all but mutinied in favor of skipping. Master was resolute despite Zero's concerns - “Do you know how easy it is to startle a horse? They could kill you and make it look like an accident.” “Zero, I am a trained equestrian. I can control my mount.” “Yeah? How about if they kill your mount, kill you, and bury you both in the woods?” The argument had pretty much devolved from there until Zero stormed off to take his frustration out on the shadow dummy.

The dense forest on the Arcrest manor is the second reason Zero is concerned about attending. The Arcrest Lodge, as I explained to Master and Zeke prior to our trip, is contained in its own atmosphere bubble connected by gravity tethers to Satellite 30. It is, essentially, its own luxury planet. It has an artificial ecosystem of carefully introduced vegetation and wildlife, making it closely resemble a natural Earth forest – or, at least, what I know of Earth forests from pictures and vids I've seen. Zero seems to think it could be dangerous, although all I know is that it's beautiful.

The lodge itself is a huge complex of buildings. The central manor is styled like a cabin, with the walls made from whole tree trunks cut and polished before being assembled into the lodge. The first time I went there, I was completely enthralled by the walls. I must have spent a full ten minutes just running my fingers along the grain. Got myself yelled at for dawdling, but I didn't regret it. I had seen smaller fruit and flower trees in our gardens, of course, but never one so thick and unique. This tree trunk seemed almost random, rounded but with a lumpy, nonconforming shape. By comparison, the completely identical, small and thin trees that I'd seen before seemed practically fake. It was a side effect of genetically altering them to withstand the confined quarters and substandard growing conditions of space. The trees at the Arcrest manor, though, were free to grow in whatever twisting, haphazard shape they chose. And the result was beautiful.

Despite Zero's protests, Master Zeke remained firmly resolved that we would attend Owner Arcrest's party. Zero must have resigned himself to it, because by the time we left to make the trip he had stopped protesting and simply complied in sullen silence. We arrive without trouble, with both Zero and I dressed in the outfits Mistress Empire provided. Master Zeke, dressed more casually for the hunt, sends us with the other pleasure assets while he joins the owners. Zero keeps his face passively neutral, although I can see the tension in his shoulders as he walks beside me. I have to keep myself from sighing. I suppose that hoping he'll be good company while we wait is out of the question.

While the Owners are out riding, they keep the pleasure assets in a holding room to get ready for the dance. It's a large room, rectangular, with less of an artistic flair than the rest of the compound. The walls are a light cream, and the smooth floor is white with flecks of gray. There are three large windows along the outside wall, giving a view of some of the outbuildings and trees. Zero, of course, ushers me straight into a corner as soon as we get in and lets me settle on one of the thick cushions there. Then Zero turns his back to me, standing with a wide stance and his arms crossed, facing the other assets. If he can't protect Zeke, it seems, then he'll protect me twice as much. I roll my eyes at him, but his back is turned to me and he can't see it. Probably for the best.

“You're being ridiculous, Zero,” I call softly, but he ignores me. Other assets are pouring in, giving Zero curious looks and a wide berth. They settle into their own areas, sitting in groups of four or five, sometimes two groups intermingling. It's not uncommon for friendships to develop between assets who have a lot of contact with each other, even if they belong to other owners. I made friends with most of Owner Arcrest's domestic assets while I was still under my previous owner, although I doubt I'll get to see any of them this time. A good domestic prides itself on working behind the scenes and only being seen when absolutely necessary. They certainly don't make idle chitchat with pleasure assets.

I glance out the window, trying to ignore the lingering feeling of being a fish in a tank. The bright colors and flowing clothes around me don't help. There's probably thirty pleasure assets in the room now, and I'm sure more will be trailing in. There's a single combat asset posted by the door – a precaution taken less to protect us and more because catfights are known to break out when an unsupervised group of pleasure assets is left alone too long. A secondary purpose is probably to keep us from wandering off while we wait.

“Zero,” I call after several minutes of watching the back of his head as he glares in displeasure at the rest of the room. “He'll be fine. Come sit with me, there's nothing you can do.”

That is, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Zero growls and shoots me a glare over his shoulder.

“Wait here,” he says gruffly, and then storms over to the combat asset at the door. They exchange harsh words, but in the end Zero growls something and the guard flinches back. Zero exits the room without a second look at the combat asset, who glares at Zero's back before turning back to his post, a scowl on his face.

Well... damn. I didn't really think he'd go looking for Master Zeke.

I settle back into the corner and try not to worry about Zero. He's probably just checking security footage. He certainly wouldn't wander into the woods, not while he's already dressed for the ball tonight. Zero's smart and more than capable. He'll probably walk back in any second now.

I look around the room again. Most of the assets have settled in, and a lot of them are taking this extra time to apply or fix their makeup and outfits. I know that as soon as the hunt is over, the owners will be bathed by the domestics – and serviced, if they're so inclined. I doubt Master Zeke will partake, since he seems reluctant to accept physical intimacy from other assets, let alone the less-skilled bodies of the domestics. He'll most likely wait until after dinner, when the dance begins and the pleasure assets begin to show off their clothes, bodies, and skills. As Mistress Empire promised, I see a lot of assets dressed in leathers and silks, like Zero and I. There's even a few other assets wearing similar harem pants to my own, although theirs are made of a more translucent fabric. I can only hope that I don't embarrass Master Zeke with my skills, since my clothes and my body seem to be fitting in well enough. Zero, as usual, will probably show up most of the other assets.

I glance at the man sitting closest to me. He's in a group, but he seems somewhat separated from them. He has a case of makeup and a small mirror set up on the floor, and he's kneeling in front of it. He's taken his collar off while he does his makeup, but I can see the white line around his throat from where it's been. He looks older than I am, but it's hard to tell how much older. Probably not more than a couple years, as I'm considered older for a pleasure asset. In general, thirty is considered too old to be tasteful, and if you aren't training or a stay-at-home pet by then, you'll probably be sold off.

The man beside me glances in my direction but doesn't take notice of me. Still, he's caught my interest. I watch him, and I'm taken by surprised at how pretty he is. Heart-shaped face and a full mouth, with large eyes and long lashes. His hair is long with bangs in the front, and a deep chestnut color with streaks of onyx and gold. His body is muscular but slim, probably from dancing and contorting. His skin has more of a natural tan than my own, giving him a healthy glow. His fingers dart quickly through his make-up box, combing through various brushes and powders, and he makes faces as he does it. At one point, he says, “There you are, you trixy little bitch,” to a slim brush of no particular importance.

I can't suppress a small laugh, and the man seems startled to find someone watching him. I blush guiltily, but the surprised look fades from his face and he gives me a smile.

“Didn't know I had an audience,” he says, and his grin has a naughty twist to it. “I'd have put on a better show.”

“I know it's not polite to stare...”

“Oh please,” he cuts me off, “I've spent half my life with people leering at me. A simple stare is a nice change of pace.” He gives me a wink and turns back to his mirror. “The name's Dodger.”

“I'm Kip. It's nice to meet you.”

“You don't have to be all formal with me,” he says with a laugh, then nods toward the door and asks, “Are you really here with that guy?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Just the two of you?”

“Yes. Zero and I are Owner Price's first assets.”

“Zero, huh?” Dodger asks. “There's a distinct lack a creativity in that name.” Huh. I hadn't really thought about that before. “Still, I guess it's better than what I got saddled with. The owners call me 'Incubus.' It sounds like I'm the lead singer in a boy band. Is Kip your given name?”

“Yes,” I answer easily. Some owners like to change the name of their assets when they get them. My last owner didn't, but I've heard about it enough to know that it's not uncommon. “Master Zeke let me pick my own name,” I explain, then hesitate before saying, “There's a chance that Zero picked his own name as well.”

Dodger barks out a laugh and says, “Yeah, he doesn't strike me as the imaginative type.”

We lapse into silence for a moment. Dodger brushes a fine white powder around his eyes that seems to make no noticeable difference, but he does it with enough skill that I realize it must be part of a priming routine. Then a thought strikes me and I ask, “Oh, so... You're the Incubus? I've heard about you. You competed in the pleasure competition a couple times, right?”

“Oh yeah,” he says, waving his brush dramatically, “I've competed about a dozen times in the pleasure category. Placed okay a couple times, but...” his smile turns bitter, “never came out on top, you know? Story of my life, I guess.”

“I've never been to a competition,” I tell him softly. “What's it like?”

“It's pretty much what we do all the time, except on a much larger scale and with a lot more people watching. Why? Your master thinkin' about putting you in?”

“No!” I say with a startled laugh. “I'm sure he's not. I haven't even been a pleasure asset for that long. I'm sure I can't compare.”

“I don't know,” he says, turning to look me over. “You're pretty cute. I think you'd do alright.”

Facing him like this, it's the first time I've gotten a full look at his eyes. Originally, I had thought he was wearing purple or violet contacts. With his eyes meeting mine, though, I can see that his eyes are truly blue, but with tiny streaks of red running through them, making the colors mix into a rich violet. I find myself staring and force myself to break contact, but not before Dodger notices.

“I'm sorry,” I say quietly, “Your eyes are just so...”

“Weird?”

“...pretty.”

Dodger shakes his head and says, “Some people get really creeped out by them. It used to be my gimmick, you know? Last survivor of the Satellite 12 tragedy.”

Oh. I'd nearly forgotten that the citizens of Satellite 12 were said to have red eyes from the faulty shielding. I'd been young when it happened, probably barely in my teens, but it had been all over the news. There had even been some information about how faulty shielding had created their trademark eyes - and earned them the title of red-eyed devils. Reactions had generally been sad but not surprised, apparently Satellite 12 had been old, prone to malfunction, and rife with crime. But it's been years since I've heard anything about the tragedy or the few survivors that were off-site during the disaster.

“Oh, I... I'm sorry.”

“Eh, it's old news,” he says, and I sense more than hear the underlying bitterness in his voice. Every asset here has some kind of tragedy in their background, but having your satellite destroyed, losing your entire world in one tragic moment, that has to be at the top of the list. “Anyway, it's pretty much forgotten at this point, so these eyes aren't really a selling point any more. Now they're just weird.”

“I guess I can't really say anything about odd eye colors,” I say, gesturing to my own pale, metallic ones. “I mean, this isn't exactly normal either.”

“It's a good look,” Dodger counters. “Works with the angelic thing you're playing.”

“Oh...” I haven't received compliments from other assets before. I find myself stuttering, “T-thank you,” and staring at my hands.

“Haven't been doing this long, huh?” Dodger asks, dipping his head to look into my downcast eyes.

“Why do you say that?”

“You blush when someone compliments you,” Dodger explains with a tilted grin. “That's something you get over pretty quick when you're naked with your legs spread half the time.”

“Oh,” I say quietly, feeling the blood drain from my face. “Yes... I suppose so...”

“Shit,” Dodger hisses, the smile gone from his face. “I'm sorry, kid. It's... Honestly, you get used to it.”

“I suppose I'll have to, won't I?” I respond, trying to keep my voice light. There are other assets around – although none of them appear to be listening – and I can't let it be known how uncertain I still am about my new status.

“Yeah...” Dodger trails, a pitying expression on his face. I can see that he wants to say more, but instead he sighs and picks up his makeup again. He starts outlining his eyes in a dark eyeliner, giving them almost a fae appearance. The liquid that he uses is coal black and goes on like paint, but he's skilled enough to put a thin, matching line around both eyes. I watch him for a moment, but I'm too worried about Zero to sit here quietly.

I glance at the door again and sigh. Zero really should be back by now. If something happened and Master Zeke is away at the hunt, Zero might need help. I can't... I can't just leave him out there by himself. Even if it makes him mad, I need to go make sure he's okay.

“It was nice talking to you,” I say in way of parting as I get to my feet. Dodger seems surprised and drops his eyeliner back into his case.

“You're not trying to go after that zero, are you?”

“Unfortunately, I think I have to.” I give him a smile. “It's okay, though. I'll be alright.”

I turn to walk toward the entrance, but Dodger grabs my wrist before I can take more than a step.

“Hey, listen,” he says, his tone dropping low as he pulls me until I'm leaning down close to him. “You see that guy guarding the door? He's one of the Arena's extras brought in for extra security.” I realize that the event must be bigger this year, if Owner Arcrest needs to hire extra security from the BloodSports arena. I don't remember that ever happening in the past. “They... Uh, they aren't really polite, you get? Word around is that guy's kind of an asshole. Best to steer clear of him.”

“I see,” I comment softly, throwing a nervous glance at the entrance. Zero's been gone a long time... “Thank you for the information, but... I have to try.”

Dodger shakes his head, but he lets go of my wrist reluctantly.

“It's your funeral,” he mutters, frustration in his voice. He doesn't understand, though. I can't just sit here and wait for Zero, even if it means getting in trouble.

I take a breath and try to look casual as I walk toward the door. I can't help but notice that I'm catching a couple eyes as I pass – I doubt that will help me, since pleasure assets generally don't get involved. Instead of making me feel secure in the knowledge that a crowd is watching, I feel uncomfortably on display again. But I try to keep my eyes forward and ignore it.

The asset at the door is broad and muscular. I have no problems imagining him in a fighting ring – and the scar across his mouth attests to that. He's probably four times my weight and twice as wide, although only a few inches taller. He's dark haired and green eyed, dressed in a well-pressed brown uniform. Only as I get close do I notice the distinct lack of the Arcrest emblem on the outfit – which is similar to the white one I wore when I helped out in the kitchen here.

I bow my head as I approach him and try to seem casual, but I can feel his eyes on me. I try to step around him to the door, but he moves to block me, and again when I try to move around him the second time. I feel my face heat, but with his size there's no way to get around him. Instead, I stop and meet his gaze.

“Excuse me,” I say softly,

“Where do you think you're going?” the guard growls.

“I... Uh, I need to go check on my partner.”

“That's not happening,” he tells me. “Just because that zero gets to prance around the place like he owns it doesn't mean you can too. Sit your ass back down.”

“But I...”

“Listen,” he says, and his tone is no less menacing, “I don't just bend over for sluts.” I flinch at the slur. Slut-slave is one of the most degrading things that a pleasure asset can be called. “So you can either sit your pretty ass back down, or you can suck my cock. Because that's the only way you're getting out of here.”

I can feel the eyes of the room on me, but I know that offers no protection. Certainly he isn't serious, is he? Master Zeke would be furious if he found out – but, then again, who would he direct his anger at? Can I be sure that it won't be me? But it doesn't matter, because I'm not going to trade sexual favors with this asshole anyway. I grit my teeth, daring to meet his eyes, but all I see there is aggression and lust. Will he even let me retreat for the moment? I take an uncertain step back, but it's the wrong move. The combat asset grins and takes a step forward, liking the chase.

“Maybe I should make you,” he says with a grin that's more like a snarl. He's so much bigger than me. I realize with a panicking feeling that if he grabs me, I won't have any option but to scream and hope someone comes. “Maybe you'd like me shoving my cock down your throat. Slut-slaves are into that kind of stuff.”

He reaches for me and I stumble back, falling to the floor. He leans over me, his hand reaching for the front of my shirt, but another hand shoves him away.

“For fuck's sake, man, leave him alone!” Dodger snaps, kneeling behind me. “You know you can't get away with this shit.”

“Who the hell are you?” the guard snarls, but Dodger isn't afraid of getting in his face.

“I'm just an asshole with a big mouth!” he yells, leaning over me to growl at the guard. “Would you look at that, I guess there's two of us!”

The guard makes an angry sound and reaches for Dodger, but Dodger is faster and manages to pull away.

“If you leave a mark on me,” Dodger says in a flat voice, “my owner will collapse on you like a black hole. Don't fucking touch me.”

The guard grits his teeth, but pulls his hand back.

“Fine,” he grits. “Get out of here before I tell them you two were fighting, and I just got involved to help.” He has a nasty grin on his face. Would that excuse work?

Dodger helps me to my feet and I realize that I'm shaking and unsteady in my footing. I feel my face flame again, embarrassed both by the scene I've made and my inability to take care of myself. Again.

“Probably doesn't matter anyway,” the guard calls nastily. “That zero's probably already dead.”

I stop dead in my tracks, forgetting my shaking body. I turn back slowly, my voice shaking as I ask, “What?”

“You heard me, slut,” he responds, feigning casualness. “He's probably already dead. A guy like that getting caught wandering around? They won't take a second look. They'll beat him to death and offer your owner a refund. Or maybe they won't. Wasn't like he stayed where he was supposed to, now did he?”

“Come on Kip,” Dodger prompts. “He's just trying to rile you.”

I want to snap back, “He's doing a good job!” but I can't make my voice work. Certainly Zero wouldn't get caught... would he?

“He might still be alive,” the guard says, his voice still calm but with an undertone of bitterness. “Owner Arcrest is a real traditionalist – he likes whipping assets who misbehave. Takes a long time to get whipped to death, you know? He could be bleeding out right now.”

An icy wave of fear washes over me, and it takes my breath away. I have to find Zero, have to make sure he's okay. If something has happened to him...

“Shit,” Dodger growls, “Don't buy into it! He's bluffing!”

“Am I?” the guard asks cruelly and I...

I can't take that chance.

“Come on,” Dodger growls, pulling on my arm again, but I twist out of his grip.

“I have to find Zero!” I yell, throwing my shoulder into the guard as I try to get past him. It's a stupid move and I practically bounce off of his heavier bulk, but it at least takes him by surprise and he falls back a step. I try to dodge through the opening to the door, but I'm not fast enough. With a growl of, “You little cunt!” the guard grabs me. He gets me by the arm and twists, sending me to the floor with a cry of pain.

“Hey!” Dodger yells, grabbing the guard's wrist where it's holding my arm. “For fuck's sake man! Let him go!”

I kick out at the guard, but he's too strong. My slippers bounce uselessly off his knees. His attention is on Dodger anyway, and they look ready to get into it above me. If they start to fight, I'll be caught in the middle, unable to even defend myself.

“Get your hands off him before I break your face,” comes Zero's voice, low and deadly from just behind us. The guard drops me and whirls, opening himself up for Zero to deliver a booted kick to his stomach. The guard drops with a whoosh, the air knocked out of him.

“You can't attack me!” he wheezes from the floor. “I'll have you zapped for this!”

“Really?” Zero asks, quirking an eyebrow. “You think anyone will side with you, when you got beat up by a slut slave?”

The guard gawks, unable to process what Zero is saying. “But... You're... You're a zero...”

“I'm also a pleasure asset, proven to be tame unless provoked.” The guard looks uncertain, and Zero continues, “Consider this my provocation. If I ever see you touching my master's property again, I'll kill you.”

The guard's face goes white, but Zero doesn't wait for him to recover. Instead, he grabs my wrist – the one I'm not cradling to my chest - and drags me back to the corner that he's claimed as ours. Dodger, seeming a little hesitant now as well, trails slowly after us.

“You couldn't stay out of trouble for ten minutes?” Zero growls, and pushes me back down to the corner without actually shoving me. Just... like, guiding me with angry, reined in force. His hands are gentle as he looks over my arm, the pain in it already starting to fade. The guard must have just twisted it, but not actually damaged it before Zero showed up. When he's sure I'm not injured, Zero meets my eyes with his steely gaze. “Stay here! Do not move!” he growls at me. “I will be back in a few minutes.” Then he turns and rounds on Dodger. “What do you want?” he snaps. I see Dodger draw in a breath and make an angry face, but I intervene first.

“He was helping me,” I protest. “Be nice. He backed me up against that guard.”

Zero throws Dodger a suspicious look but backs off. He gives a gruff, “Thanks,” and then heads toward the door again, blowing right past the guard, who doesn't even look at him this time. Dodger gives a low whistle, watching Zero's stormy exit.

“Damn,” Dodger says, “that's a hot piece of mean and angry.” He turns and winks at me. “Wouldn't mind getting myself some of that action, you know?”

My head is still spinning and I give Dodger a disbelieving look. What... What the hell do I say to that?

“Jeez, blondie,” he laughs at my perplexed expression, that Cheshire grin back on his face. “It was a joke. Guy like that's probably as fun as fuckin' a bucket of nails and twice as dangerous. I wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot dildo.”

A-wha?

“It'd be nice to make him smile, though,” he says more quietly. The grin softens a bit, and he cocks his head to the side as he watches Zero disappear around the corner. “I bet he's got a killer smile.”

He watches the doorway for a couple more seconds, and I have no idea what to say to his sudden interest in Zero, so I sit quietly and cradle my throbbing arm. Finally, Dodger turns his attention away and comes to kneels beside me. We sit in silence for a few minutes, before he finally asks, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I respond tiredly. I can feel a headache behind my eyes, but it's far enough off that I'm not concerned. I don't think I'd ever considered the possibility of avoiding a headache in this stressful of a situation, but I hadn't planned on prompting it this early. My arm stills aches and I try not to look at it. When Dodger nudges my shoulder, I gesture to my wrist with a sigh. My skin is milk-white, and I can already see the outline of finger-shaped bruises around my wrist. “It's just... It's definitely going to bruise.” I bury my face in my knees. “Guess I'm going to have to explain to Master Zeke why I got into a fight already.”

“Shit,” Dodger says, “No way, blondie. No sense catchin' a zap for that little thing. C'mere. We'll cover that in two shakes.”

I shift closer and he's already pulling stuff out of his box. He dabs a concealer on my arm, rubbing it over the bruise gently, then covers it with a mix of powders that blend into my skin so naturally that even I can't tell where the bruise was. When he's finished, I run my fingers over the spot, but they come away clean. He grins when I glance at him, smiling proudly.

“It won't rub off,” he assures. “You can definitely hide it until tonight's over. Probably won't need touched up until tomorrow.”

“Thank you!” I gush, but I'm so tired. I know it lacks my usual energy. Dodger doesn't take offense. Instead, he smiles softly and closes up his make-up kit. His face is fully painted now, with a light glaze on his lips and purple shading around his eyes. He really does look gorgeous.

“Hey,” Dodger says quietly, “You mind if I just sit here?” He nods to the group behind him. They're all similarly built men, all with long hair of varying shades. “I'm... Well, I'm kinda the odd man out in that group.”

“Please,” I say, shifting over so we can share a cushion. “I would enjoy the company.”

Dodger seats himself beside me, folding one leg under him and bringing the other up to his chest. There's several seconds of quiet before Dodger finally says, “You know, that Zero you've got is... Well, he's really something, you know?”

“Yes,” I agree easily. “He's very impressive. He attracts a lot of attention from owners.”

“No – well, yeah. I mean I'm sure that's true, but...” he trails for a second, looking wistful. “He really came bolting back in here for you and got in that guy's face to keep you safe. You don't find that kind of loyalty very often.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Yes... I... Zero is very protective of me. We take care of each other. Well, I try to take care of him. Zero is pretty self-sufficient, obviously.”

“Have you guys always been close?”

This time I chuckle softly.

“No. Actually, when Master Zeke first got me, Zero really didn't like me very much. He was actually... Well, he was pretty mean to me. Afterwards, though, he made it up to me. He's the kind of person who's selflessly loyal to people he trusts, but he doesn't trust very easily.”

“He's not dumb,” Dodger counters. “You have to be a bit suspicious to make it around here. Everybody's got an angle.”

“Even you?” I ask. He hesitates for the briefest moment before grinning.

“'Specially me,” he says with a wink. It makes me chuckle despite myself. When my laughter dies away, an awkward quiet settles in again. It makes me notice the pounding behind my eyes that I've been trying to ignore, hoping it's simply a reaction to the adrenaline and that it will fade away. No such luck, it seems, and I grimace at the pain.

“Your wrist hurting you?” Dodger asks, noticing the expression. I shake my head.

“Headache,” I explain. “Probably from all the excitement.”

“You want something to drink?” he nods over to a small table with refreshments in the corner. “I could grab you a drink or somethin'. Cookies 'n whatever.”

My stomach roils uncomfortably at the thought of food – not an uncommon reaction when I get a headache. Best not to chance it, so I shake my head. “Thank you, but I better not. Please don't let that stop you, though. I don't want you going hungry on my account.” The pleasure assets won't really get fed until the night is over, although we might get a few bites from our owners at dinner. Now would be a good time for a snack, if I weren't nauseous.

“No,” Dodger says, seeming suddenly awkward. “I'm... Uh, I'm on the white diet, if you know what I mean.” His hand dives into his box and he pulls out a small, clear plastic bottle filled with a whitish, thick-looking liquid. He shakes it, making the liquid glob onto either side of the bottle, and then takes a small slip. He makes a distasteful face as he swallows it, then puts the lid back. “Gotta be ready for the owners, right?”

Oh, I realize with a feeling of sudden horror, it's a nutrient supplement. I've made them a couple times for pleasure assets whose owners don't want to deal with the hassle of normal bodily functions. It's a food replacement that allows the pleasure assets to be clean inside at all times without needing to wash or cleanse. But it isn't widely utilized because it's a horrible experience for the pleasure asset, giving them an almost constant feeling of hunger. It's also hard on the asset's body, creating complications like atrophy of the digestive system and severe lack of micronutrients gained by normal eating. When I was a domestic asset, I'd worked closely with a medical scholar the few times I'd been asked to make the supplements. We'd had to work from samples of his blood to adjust the recipe and fill in holes in the asset's diet. But even with custom adjustments, it had only been a temporary fix, and the asset had eventually been put back on a normal diet.

“It's not that bad,” Dodger says. He must see the look of horrified pity on my face, because he waggles the bottle of yogurt-consistency liquid at me. “I've only got a couple more months before I have to go off the stuff. Can't be on it forever, you know. Or maybe I’ll get bought and he’ll take me off the diet.” He gives a bark of laughter. “Yeah, like I could be that lucky.”

I manage to withhold a gasp of, “Months?” as Dodger forces himself to take another sip. The drink that I’ve made before - which is probably the same as what he’s drinking now - was only recommended for a few weeks at a time. The convenience of having an asset available at all times had to be balanced with the rational understanding that a liquid diet is not good for a healthy person’s digestive system. Long-term use could cause serious or even deadly consequences just for convenience, which seems cruel and stupid to me. However, I'm sure my shock and outrage on his behalf will be neither helpful nor welcome – it's not like there's anything I can actually do to help him. He lids the bottle and tosses it back in his box, then turns to me again.

“You wanna lean back and shut your eyes for a bit? I'll make sure nobody paints your face.” Doing bad make-up on another asset while he sleeps might seem like a juvenile prank, but it can cause a lot of trouble for the victim if noticed too late. “Seriously, you look really worn out, and you're still pretty pale. You should rest while you can.”

I hesitate, biting my lip while I calculate the risk versus the reward. On the one hand, napping in a room full of competitors is a big risk. On the other, Dodger has been nothing but kind so far and a nap could stave off this headache, preventing a disaster of another kind. I glance at Dodger again, but he's sitting casually, his face earnest and relaxed.

“You sure it's alright?” I ask. He gives a subdued smile.

“You're adorable, you know that?” he tells me, and again I'm not sure how to respond, but he just gestures at his shoulder. “Lean yourself right here. I'll keep watch.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, and then let him pull me against his side, resting my cheek on his shoulder. I haven't been around many pleasure assets – are they all this sweet? But that doesn't seem likely, because none of the other assets in the room have even spoken to me.

“I really appreciate this,” I murmur as I feel myself dozing off.

“I certainly hope so,” I hear him respond, but I'm too far gone to question it.

It feels like I doze for hours, never really sleeping, but far enough gone that I'm not aware of anything but the soft sound of Dodger breathing. By the time he nudges me awake, my headache has faded to the background and I'm feeling a lot more refreshed. I stir groggily as Dodger says, “Hey, you're buddy's back.”

I glance up and take in Zero, strolling across the room, barefooted. His shoes are in his hands, his socks stuffed inside his shoes, and his feet covered in mud all the way to the bottoms of his pants. Even by the time he makes it over to where I'm sitting with Dodger, I'm still stunned by his appearance.

“What the hell happened?” Is the first thing I can think of to say, followed quickly by, “We've got to get you cleaned up! You're going to get in trouble!”

“I've got wet wipes in my case,” Dodger offers, moving away from me to pull out his case again. “Can get that cleaned up in no time.”

“Thank you!” I gush, letting out a relieved breath. “That's very nice of you.”

“It is,” Zero agrees, his voice carefully free of inflection as he takes the offered napkins from Dodger and kneels to clean off his feet and the hem of his pants. Zero doesn't let any expression show on his face, but I can tell from how his eyes keep glancing at Dodger that he's suspicious. Then again, it's Zero. He's suspicious of everyone. It's like his default setting or something.

“Thank you,” Zero says to Dodger, handing back the unused wipes and tossing the dirty ones into a nearby receptacle. When he returns, he focuses on me and asks, “How's your arm?”

“It's fine,” I assure him, holding it out to let him see. “Dodger has even covered the bruise for me. Isn't he sweet?”

“Yes,” Zero says, but apparently that's one good deed too many. This time his suspicion shows plainly on his face as he glances toward Dodger and asks me, “So what does he want from us?”

“Zero!” I scold. “Dodger is just being nice!”

Zero snorts derisively, and I'm ready to yell at him again until I glance over at Dodger, who's guiltily shuffling his brushes around in his case without looking up or making eye contact. It deflates me pretty rapidly, and I realize suddenly that Zero is right. Pleasure assets don't just help each other out for no reason. I should have expected this.

Dodger glances up and meets my gaze with a guilty expression. He looks away quickly and then sighs, closing his case before getting to his feet.

“Look, it's not that big of a deal,” he starts. “It's not like I have some maniacal evil plan or something.”

“Then what do you want?” Zero questions, getting straight to the point. Dodger glances around the room and I follow his gaze, seeing that the other assets are starting to rise and move toward the door. It looks like we don't have much time left for this anyway.

“It's not a big thing. It's just...” Dodger gestures to his neck and the obvious line where his collar should be. I hadn't noticed that he still didn't put it on after finishing his makeup. He slides his hand into his pocket and pulls out a collar – a green one – and fastens it around his neck. The meaning is immediately clear: Not only is Dodger for sale, but his owner is probably trying to move him quickly. That would be the only reason an owner would advertise that he's selling an asset at an event this size.

“You've already said that it's just you two under your owner,” Dodger says, and Zero shoots me a dirty look, but how was I supposed to know not to say anything? It's not like it's a secret. “I'm assuming, then, that he's pretty new, otherwise I definitely would have heard of the guy who fucks a zero.” I glance at Zero, but the phrasing doesn't seem to bother him. His attention is trained firmly on Dodger, who talks casually as he fastens the green collar around his throat. “You two both look pretty healthy, so I can assume that your owner isn't a total monster. So if there's any way you could put in a good word for me, I would really appreciate it. My master is trying to get top dollar for me, but I've got a lot of experience and I can make it worth it for your owner.”

“That's all you want? A recommendation?” I ask, relieved, but Zero cuts me off.

“We can't make any guarantees,” Zero says seriously. “Master Zeke already has two pleasure assets, he might not be looking for a third.”

“I get that,” Dodger says seriously, “but I've been through the Competition before. If your owner is serious about training pleasure assets, I could be a big help.”

Zero nods sharply and then turns toward the exit, starting to move with the rest of the pleasure assets. Before he can pull me away, I turn to Dodger and offer, “We'll point him out to you later, at the dance. That way you can get his attention, okay?”

“Sure,” Dodger says, the Cheshire grin coming back to his face, “If there's one thing I can do, it's get a man's attention.”

Then Zero is dragging me out the door and into the hallway, and I lose sight of Dodger in the crowd. I can't help but smile, thinking of how nice it would be to have the cheeky man come stay with us, how much help he could be with the skills and duties of a pleasure asset.

Now all I have to do is convince Master Zeke to take him.

 


	9. The Hunt - Zeke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a very nice Thanksgiving! (Or whatever holiday is closest if you're not from the states.) I'm trying to use my couple extra days of break to get some serious chapters rolled out - so far I'm at 13, so we're safe for at least a few more weeks. I apologize if my reply to reviews are delayed, I always try to at least say thanks in acknowledgement of reviews, but sometimes it takes me a full week to manage that. Please be aware that I do read and appreciate all of them, even if I can't manage to respond right away. 
> 
> Speaking of things I'm thankful for, my beta team is absolutely fantastic. Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways are the absolute best. I just have to give them my appreciation once again.

It's a ridiculous scenario I find myself in. I'm alone in the middle of the woods on a tawny-colored mare. There's thick brush surrounding me and a narrow path in front of me. My horse is apparently very familiar with this trail, because I haven't used the reins in at least half an hour and she's yet to halt or veer into the forest. There's a crossbow on my lap – an antique weapon that I barely know how to fire, let alone load and aim. All of this, and I'm searching for a pheasant to shoot with my antiquated gear. I'm pretty certain that a pheasant is a type of edible bird, although fuck me if I've got any idea what it looks like. Honestly, although I know many of my peers enjoy these sorts of outdated hobbies, I've never had the misfortune of being given an invitation to one that I couldn't easily turn down.

At least it's pretty, I think to myself. The ventilation system is blowing air through the trees, making the leaves rustle, and there's an artificial stream on the other side of the path. It has a man-made waterfall just a bit behind me, and I stopped for several minutes just to look at it. The whole scene reminds me a lot of my youth spent on Earth. Honestly, this type of artificially created natural setting is more familiar to me than the actual Earth wilderness, as the forests and meadows at my Earth home were probably as carefully tended as this artificially grown one. The elite like to pretend they like nature, but they've got no real interest in the wilderness and the random, disgusting things that come with it. You'd be as likely to find a stagnant pool of worm-infested water or the rotting corpse of an animal here as on my family's Earth property.

There's a rustle in the underbrush that sounds louder and closer than the wind moving through the branches. I pull my horse to a stop and wonder if I'm lucky enough to have stumbled on the bird that I'm looking for. Then I wonder if I'll be lucky enough to be able to shoot the thing.

“Don't say anything,” comes Zero's voice from the foliage. “There are cameras watching. Get off your horse and duck under these branches.”

I keep my expression neutral by sheer force of will. Shock and anger war for supremacy in my emotions, followed quickly by fear. Is everything okay? Did something happen? But I force myself to move casually as I dismount and crawl into the underbrush.

Zero looks much the same as he did when I last saw him – still dressed in his leather clothes for the party but sans shoes and with ripped towels wrapped around his knees and elbows. I suppress a groan as I see the Arcrest logo on the linens. Zero gives me a flat look as he catches my glance and says, “No one saw me take them.”

“Did something happen?” I ask, laying on my stomach beside him in the underbrush. There's a thick covering of branches above us and Zero has pushed out all of the dead leaves to make a clearing big enough for both of us.

“No,” Zero answers, taking the crossbow from my hands and looking over the weapon, adjusting the string, reloading it, checking the sight, and taking careful aim at an area just beyond and below our little nest.

“Then why are you here?” I question, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of my voice. Zero doesn't even glance at me, just keeps staring at the clearing beyond us.

“You're supposed to be shooting a pheasant, right?” he asks.

“And what do you know about hunting?” I growl, irritated.

“At least I know how to properly load a crossbow,” Zero responds, and that doesn't sting any less because it's true. I am not helpless, damn it!

“I am just as capable of completing this ridiculous task as you are.”

There's the sound of a snap and then a loud rustling of branches. Suddenly, a brown bird bursts from the leaves and takes flight, right in the area Zero had been staring at. He looses an arrow and the bird goes down instantly, falling into an unmoving pile of feathers.

I gape at the bird, then at Zero.

“How did you do that?”

“I told you I could hunt,” Zero says with a casualness that I'm not falling for.

“You've never been hunting in your life!” It's not like this is a common hobby, or like it has any bearing on the type of battles Zero had been trained for.

“No,” he says, and smirks as he hands me back the crossbow. “But you really think they're just going to let birds fly all over the place in here? When they could get into the air filtration system and do a lot of very expensive damage?” He doesn't wait for me to respond. “They've got them in automated, spring-release cages. I just sneaked into the surveillance room and figured out where they were.”

“And that's how you knew that the surveillance doesn't have audio?” I surmise, but he shakes his head.

“It has audio, but the noise from the waterfall and the ventilation system covers it here. That's why I waited until you reached this point to get your attention.”

“How long have you been following me?” I growl, but he shrugs.

“Not that long. Once I saw that you were safe on the surveillance monitors, I just picked out a place and waited for you to get close enough for me to intercept. Plus, I had to stop and check on Kip on my way over here. He was getting anxious.”

“Is he alright by himself?” I ask, feeling worry sneak in.

“He's made a friend,” Zero says distastefully.

“Is that bad?”

“It's unlikely,” Zero replies. “Pleasure assets aren't friendly without reason. I should get back and see what he wants from us.”

“You think he wants something? Like what?”

“Could be information, sometimes pleasure assets act as informants for their owners,” Zero responds, but his tone even. He doesn’t seem too concerned. “It’s more likely that he’s looking to change owners. Either he’s for sale or he’s hoping to be.”

“You really think that?” I ask, surprised that Zero would catch something that subtle in regards to another person. His social interaction skills aren’t his strongest aspect.

He shrugs and says, “My previous owner had pleasure assets. I have some experience with them.”

“Ah, I forgot,” I respond. “I suppose you should be getting back then.” I’m a little surprised by this information. I wonder, could things be this simple? I've been thinking of buying more assets. Getting one that Kip has already made friends with might make the transition easier. An experienced pleasure asset might be a big help with Zero and Kip, who are both completely new to the job. “Keep me posted about that other asset. Are you sure you weren't seen coming out here?”

“There's a line of these bushes all the way to the manor,” Zero says, pointing to the line of thick leaves I can see running away from us, back to the main lodge. “Whoever planted them probably thought it would be easier to water them if they ran the same direction as the water lines, so it's a direct course back to the house.”

“Be careful,” I caution. “I don't want you being seen as unruly, you understand? Don't get caught.” Zero nods and turns away from me, starting to crawl on his belly back toward the lodge.

“Make sure you give me a couple minutes before you go get that carcass,” Zero warns over his shoulder. “If they say anything, tell them you were waiting to see if another one came out.”

“Don't worry about me,” I respond, “just make sure you keep an eye on Kip.”

Then his bare feet disappear into the heavy covering of leaves, and I can barely hear the rustling of his movements over the sounds of the forest. I count to one hundred before I go and retrieve my prize, trying not to feel irrationally annoyed when I realize that Zero managed to shoot it dead center through the eyes, killing it instantly even while it was in flight.

The mare knows this situation better than I do. Apparently, she also knows that after the bird is caught, it's time to go back to the forest lodge and meet up with the other owners. I let her casually pick her course, in no real hurry to return, and am genuinely surprised when we enter into the clearing and I see Dillon unstrapping his own gear from a dark stallion. He laughs delightedly as I hold up the dead animal. As I dismount, a domestic asset comes to my side and relieves me of the bleeding corpse.

“I knew you'd be one of the first ones back,” Dillon congratulates me. “You've been beaten only by Jackson and Carter. Gentlemen, I think introductions are in order.”

Two men step forward. It puts us at four corners of a square, and for a moment my universe narrows in scope until it's only the four of us. Dillon, with his black hair and his dark eyes, and me as counterweight diagonally across from him, with my golden hair and blue eyes. The two new figures are brown-haired, trailing on either side of Dillon, and step naturally into line to close our little box. It feels like a nexus of power, and something inside me screams that these two men are important, that there's a reason Dillon is introducing me. If Dillon is truly the Controller, are these his right and left hands? Is he hoping to let them judge me, to see if I'm worthy of bringing closer? Or is it possible that one of these two men are the Controller, and Dillon is subservient to him?

I take stock of my new nemeses. Both are of average height and with brown hair. They both seem young, probably in their mid-twenties. That doesn't necessarily rule them out as the Controller – money can buy a lot of power very quickly – but it does make Dillon a more likely candidate.

The man to my left has a narrow, serious face with a sharp jaw and hazel eyes. His hair is short and sharply cut, accenting the severity of his face. His shoulders are muscular, his body lean. He's handsome and he's aware of it, moving with the self-assured grace of someone who's used to capturing the attention of the room. He sneers at me, cocking his head to the side as he eyes my kill.

“That's a damn nice shot for somebody who's never done this before.”

“Beginner's luck,” I demure and try for a charming smile. “I assure you, if it hadn't scared the hell out of me, I probably wouldn't have gotten a shot off at all.”

“Don't be so serious, Jackson,” the other man chides. I take stock of him – grayish blue eyes this time. His hair is longer, and wind-tousled from the breeze. He has a rounder face, softer features, but the same slim, long limbs. He smiles and it's genuine, but there's still something predatory about him. He reaches out, and it takes me a moment longer than it should to convince myself to shake his hand.

“Ezekiel Price,” I introduce myself. His hand in mine is warm and soft. His grip is strong, tighter than I expected.

“Carter Powers,” he comes back, then nods to the more severe man. “And that is my dear but unsociable friend, Jackson Wright.”

“A pleasure,” I say with a nod, but the other man glares at me.

“He's always like that,” Dillon intercedes. “Don't take it personally. He just doesn't like to be shown up, and you made a better shot than he did.”

“I'm sure he'll get a chance to even the score.”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” says Carter. “I'm sure you'll be seeing more of us. You've created quite a name for yourself already.”

I don't really know how to respond to that. Under the strain of trying to make a good impression with these men, nothing clever comes to mind. Anything else that I might say to humble myself would come off as ingratiating. Luckily, Dillon cuts in on what might have otherwise been an awkward silence.

“Gentlemen,” he says, and takes a step back with a gesture toward the manor complex. “I'm sure you will all want to change and freshen up before dinner. As the three top marksmen on this hunt, I would be honored if you would all join me at my table.” There's a subtle hesitation where Dillon glances at Jackson and then Carter. “I'm sure we'd all like to get to know our newest member better.”

Jackson nods, but there's still a scowl on his face. Carter smiles and nods, putting his hands in his pockets. Dillon steps to take the lead as we walk toward one of the nearest buildings. Jackson falls in line behind him, and Cater takes step beside me, throwing me a boyish smile.

“You must come with us when we hunt something more exotic next time,” Carter says as we make our way out of the clearing and toward one of the out buildings. “We've hunted bear before, sometimes deer. Sometimes more dangerous game, if we're so inclined.”

“What's more dangerous than a bear?” I ask. I realize a moment too late that I'm not going to like the answer, but it's too late to stop it now.

“Combat assets, mostly,” Carter says casually. “The ones that just can't be trained no matter how much Dillon breaks them. Once in awhile we'll bring in a covert from Scarlett. Will she be here tonight, by the way?” he asks, addressing the question to Dillon.

“Yes, Reynard and Scarlett will both be in attendance.” He glances at me and says, “You've met Reynard, from what he tells me, so you're familiar with the fact that he deals in pleasure assets. Scarlett is the dealer for covert assets. She trains some of the best assassins money can buy.”

“And you certainly need a lot of money to buy them,” Cater says dryly, garnering chuckles from Dillon and a smirk from Jackson.

“Are any other dealers coming?” I ask. “I've met Petir, but he's the only other one.”

“Petir won't be able to make it, but Vikram is here as his envoy.”

“Just an envoy?” Jackson questions. “I've heard that Petir has been scarce lately.” He casts another glowering look in my direction. “Since he with met you actually.”

“I can't say we parted on the best of terms,” I say with a sigh that's partially true. “He was rather... aggressive with his sales pitch. Unfortunately, my zero injured both of his combat assets before they left my ship, but all three of them left alive. If you're implying that I might have done something to him, I have to vehemently deny it. I've been told that owners aren't allowed to directly target one another in this society.”

“Sometimes people push the boundaries of propriety,” Carter responds, a small frown on his face. “You'd be surprised how many owners stoop to infighting, even when they know that the Controller won't abide by that.”

“The controller?” I pounce, my heart pounding even as I keep my voice casual. “I've heard a couple mentions of him – the man who runs this organization, right? Do we really have no idea who he is?”

“He could be anyone,” Carter says with that cheeky, boyish grin. “He could be you, for all we know.”

I scoff. “If I were the Controller, why would I wait this long to make myself a part of my own social circle? It has to be someone who's been here from the beginning, doesn't it?”

“This network is older than any of us,” Dillon points out. “I've heard that it started as a prostitution ring prior to Red Seven legalizing the sex trade, back when Satellites were first being built off-planet. With later competition from legal operations on self-run Satellites, the Leash developed the chip technology and expanded its offerings to the current disciplines. Whoever holds the title of Controller now isn't the same person who started this ring, it's someone who's taken on the mantle. There's been a lot of expansion in the last twenty years or so – the title of Dealer is still new, so is the Competition. Maybe the Owner is planning to make himself known in preparation for his next big move?”

I keep my face relaxed, my eyes staring ahead of me. Could it be this easy? Is this Dillon admitting to being the Controller and laying out his plans to me? Is it... Could it be that my job has come to such an easy conclusion?

Then Cater says, “You know an awful lot about the Leash's history. Maybe you're the Controller?”

Dillon laughs and makes a dismissive gesture.

“I've been part of this organization for a long time. If I were in control, I wouldn't need to host giant, pain in the ass parties like this to secure my standing. I'd just kill anyone who pissed me off.”

“You pretend that you don't like hosting these gatherings,” Carter teases with a grin, “but they get bigger every year.”

“Almost seems like there's something going on this year,” Jackson comments, his lips quirked in a half-smile. “With all the extra guests.”

Dillon grins wolfishly and shrugs.

“You'll just have to wait and see.” Dillon stops, stepping back to let Carter and I pass him. We're only a short distance from the outbuilding, and it seems that Dillon intends to turn back. “This is where I leave you in the hands of my capable staff. I have to make sure Vikram doesn't actually manage to break his neck falling off that stallion. My assets will help you to bathe and dress for dinner. Please make use of them for anything you desire.”

It's quiet for a moment as Dillon departs and we watch him. It gives my brain a moment to run through the conversation again, to make sure I have it stored in my memory. Later, I'll run through the whole thing again and try to decipher tone and inflection against the actual words, trying to decide which ones are half-truths and which ones are outright lies. More than likely, I'll succeed only in giving myself a headache trying to decide who's being deceptive and what angles to play. There are very few things I can be certain of in this scenario. There are only two important things that I know for sure at this point: That Dillon is a very powerful influence in the Leash, and that he isn't going to put men at his table just because they're good at shooting birds. The whole hunt has the feel of something carefully planned out – from the way my horse seemed to know her own way through the woods to the placement of the pheasant's cage practically in my path. Even without Zero's help, I feel like I would have ended up in this position eventually.

Carter is the first to turn toward the wooden building, and Jackson and I fall into step. After a few seconds of quiet, Jackson says, “You never answered the original question.” I glance at him, running through the conversation until I realize it started when Carter asked if I would hunt with them. If I would hunt people with them. Jackson's piercing eyes are locked on mine, and I sense an underlying dislike in them. Does my appearance here anger him? If he's not the Controller, then my sudden rise in popularity could threaten his position. If he is the Controller, then he could simply be suspicious of me. “So?” he prompts, “Are you coming on the next hunt with us?”

I imagine the bolt of my crossbow piercing Zero or Kip in the eye, as it did the pheasant less than an hour ago. My stomach churns at the thought, and I struggle to keep it from showing on my face. I force my lips into a smile and try to put a look of self-depreciation on my face.

“I don't think I'd be of any benefit,” I decline with a shrug. “I mean, I just barely got the drop on an animal with a brain the size of a pea. I can't imagine how I'd fare against something near my own intelligence. In hopes of keeping my dignity, I'll have to pass. But let me know the next time you're hunting beasts again.”

“If we ever decide to hunt Jackson, you'll be the first person I call,” Carter teases. Jackson glowers. “I mean, he certainly has beastly manners.”

“Ch,” Jackson grouses, shoving Carter's shoulder in a joking, familiar gesture. “Like you have room to talk. Or did you forget stealing my kill earlier today?”

Carter shrugs with a grin. “A bird died directly in front of me. I took it as a sign.”

“Yeah, a sign you should steal my stuff,” he shoots back, but he's grinning. The two are more relaxed and casual in their interactions – they're either friends or more. I file that information away with the rest for future reflection.

Then we reach the building, and it's with a hidden sigh of relief that I allow myself to be separated from the other two men, led inside by a pair of domestic assets wearing long-sleeved black uniforms. There's a logo on the front of their uniform that isn't the Arcrest emblem that I've seen elsewhere in the manor – I realize that these must be assets loaned to Arcrest for the party. Kip had mentioned his last owner renting out domestics, perhaps these assets are from the same owner.

I take a quick glance at the two men bracketing me. Of the two, one is nearly my height, the other quite a bit shorter. They both have brown hair cut near their ears, but the shorter one has some loose, natural curls. Both are lean, but without the muscles of a fighter like Zero. The taller one has green eyes, while the shorter has blue. They lead me deeper into the building, which proves to be some kind of bath-house. We pass a sauna in the front and a few cubicles with massage tables before the tall asset opens a door to a bathing chamber and gestures for me to enter.

Inside is a sizable dressing room and, further back, a large shower. The room is done in a dark, cherry wood, the shower in white tile. The far wall of the shower is made of glass, overlooking the picturesque forest outside. My clothes for the party are hanging in the dressing room, and I shrug out of my hunting garments as I cross to the shower. The assets let me precede them, the tall one following just behind me, the other scrambling to pick up my discarded clothes. The asset who trails me does something to cue the shower, and by the time my feet hit the tiles there's warm water pouring from the shower. I step into the spray, duck my head under the water, and turn my back to the beautiful scene behind me. I've had all I can take of nature today.

I don't notice that the taller asset has joined me in the shower until he's standing right next to me. He's undressed, and he silently holds a rag out, his face asking my permission. I nod, and he starts to wash me, gently running the soaped cloth over my skin. In a few moments, the second asset joins us, similarly undressed. He kneels on the tiles behind us, silent until I finally turn to him.

“Can I offer you my mouth or my body?” the kneeling asset asks me. The other continues to run his hands over my soap-slickened skin with the rag. Adrenaline is still coursing through me from the ride and the hunt, not to mention my first interactions with men who actually might be the Controller. I'd like nothing more than to fuck someone hard against this wall, to let off some of this nervous energy and relax for a moment. Unfortunately, it's Zero that I imagine pinned between my cock and a hard place, grinning fiercely over his shoulder at me as he takes my punishing thrusts. There would be no fun in letting the creature in front of me get me off – I imagine it would be little more than assisted masturbation – and I've no interest in that.

“No, thank you,” I deny easily.

“As you wish, sir,” he responds. He folds his hands and bows his head, rising gracefully and backing toward the wall with his head still lowered.

There's something in his look that reminds me of Kip. Maybe in the way he holds himself? Dignified but subservient. I've seen that pose from Kip when he's serving food or helping me bathe. It's appearing less frequently now that he's starting to relax around me, but...

“Did you know a blonde asset? A clone?”

The question startles me, as I hadn't actually meant to ask it. I must be more off-balance than I thought, given everything that's happening. Still, the boy is surprised as well and blinks at me, forgetting not to make eye contact.

“Sir?”

“He would have been a domestic when you knew him. He did a lot of cooking.” For fuck's sake, don't I know more about Kip's life before me than that? I realize with a shuddering clarity that I don't even know Kip's last owner's name. I might have met him, for all I know.

But the boy knows who I'm talking about, and he's so surprised that he asks, “Do you mean Kip?” without even putting sir at the end. He blushes a moment later and ducks his head, stuttering out, “I-I'm sorry, sir. It sounds like you're talking about an asset named Kiplan, sir.”

“Did you know him?” I ask.

“He trained me, sir. He trained a lot of Owner Carme's assets.” Finally, I think to myself, a name. “He was a good teacher, before...” The boy trails off, unwilling to reveal too much information, but I already know what happened. Before Kip got sick, and got sold.

He's quiet for several seconds while the other asset washes me. I finish bathing and rinse off, letting the two assets help to dry me even though it's probably less efficient than I could do on my own. I can see that the shorter asset wants to ask me something, can see his eyes deep in thought as he bites his lip – how many of his mannerisms did these assets pick up from Kip? - before I finally see disappointed resignation in his eyes. He doesn't know me well enough to dare to ask.

As they begin to help me dress, I place a hand on the blue-eyed asset's shoulder. He flinches and lowers his head, but I tilt his face to look at me. The taller asset pauses behind me, tense but unable to intervene.

“Kip's fine,” I tell the shorter man softly. His blue eyes jump to mine again, surprised and relieved. “He's a pleasure asset now. You might see him tonight, if you'll be at the dance.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he says. His face lights up and he bows deeply when I release him, then beats a hasty, embarrassed retreat. The other asset steps forward again and resumes helping me dress. We're almost done, with just the coat and the accessories remaining.

“Kip trained him,” the taller asset says softly. His voice is hesitant, ready to cut back to silence if I do anything to dissuade him from speaking. “Trained both of us, actually. He was...  _ is _ ,” he corrects himself, “very well-loved. We all thought...”

They thought he'd died, and had mourned him.

“Kip is very sweet,” I respond. The last of my buttons are fastened, and the taller asset steps back to survey his work. “He seems very happy in my home.”

He nods once, ducking his head and folding his hands in a waiting pose. We're finished, it seems, but I'm not ready to face the crowd again. I give the asset a benevolent smile and gently say, “If you wouldn't mind, I'd like a moment alone.”

The asset bows deeply and backs away.

“I'll be waiting outside when you're ready to be directed to dinner, sir.”

Then I'm alone, finally and blissfully. Among my things is a bag of makeup – Kip must have sent it along with my clothes. There's a sitting area in the corner of the room, a short bench in front of a small table and a large mirror. I hadn't even noticed it when I first entered, my mind hardly managing to take in my surroundings. I settle heavily on the chair, dumping the makeup onto the table in front of me. I stare vacantly at it for several minutes until I realize that I haven't moved yet. I rub a hand across my forehead, feeling stress building to a headache behind my eyes.

I curse and pick up my concealer. The bags under my eyes need hidden. There are drops for my eyes so they won't look so bloodshot and strained. A bit of eyeliner to make it look like I'm awake and aware. Powders for my face, so I won't look so pale and sickly. Shading for my lips so they won't look so thin and bloodless. My hands start to move without conscious thought, trying to cover how strained I am. Putting on my armor. Covering the cracks in my defenses.

After all, I can't go back into the wilderness without looking at my peak.

Or the predators will eat me alive.

 


	10. The Speech - Zeke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate Christmas. Can I say that? Am I allowed to come clean? I am the biggest Scrooge. I end up doing a lot of extra work to keep up with the societal expectation of gift-giving versus my own severely limited budget (read: handmade gifts, mostly food) and it just ends up being a very hectic month for me. So, just a heads up that we are good until the end of the month for posting chapters - but the new year is no guarantee, since I'm likely to get behind during December. I hope you all have a happy, WAY more relaxing holiday season. Lol!
> 
> I'm also giving a special thanks to my betas, who still take time out of their super-busy holiday schedules to take a look at my chapters. Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, NarrowDoorways are like the Santa's little helpers of writing, but they work all year round, and I can't thank them enough for their tireless efforts. Thanks so much!

“My, you clean up nice,” Carter compliments as I take my seat at the table. A domestic asset scurries to push my chair in, another fills my water glass. Carter is beside me, Jackson across. The seat on my other side is empty, but Dillon is only a few paces away from his chair, speaking in low tones with a female owner. On a second glance, I realize that it's Ellaine Castillo, one of the owners I met at the bar last week. She's standing by her chair at the table next to ours, along with Vikram, Reynard, and another female owner who I don't recognize.

I pull my attention back to the table. Carter is still looking at me expectantly, and I realize that I haven't responded to his compliment. I give a laugh to cover my distraction.

“I'm sorry, I think I left my brain somewhere out there in forest.”

“Should have left the rest of you out there,” Jackson grumbles in a low, surly voice. Carter shoots him a glare and Jackson pushes himself to his feet and stalks over to the bar.

Watching him go, I take another chance to glance around the room. The banquet hall of the Arcrest manor is enormous. The polished wood that adorns the rest of the lodge is still present, but otherwise it seems far less rustic than the other areas. The floors are done in white marble tile, the linens and trimmings of the room all in a rich gold. The tables are small and round, seating only four guests, but there must be more than forty of them. They're all set with crystal glasses and fine porcelain wares – the water and champagne glasses are already filled, likely waiting for a toast before dinner. Along the far wall, the pleasure assets are kneeling quietly. I spot Zero and Kip both kneeling with their heads down, although Zero's face is tilted enough that I can see him scanning the room with his eyes. There's a raised platform in the front of the room, currently occupied by a group of assets playing soft, classical music. I wonder idly at their designation – pleasure? Or perhaps scholarly? They all have the Arcrest logo on their clothes, so I'll have to ask Dillon about it.

“Is he still in a mood?” Dillon asks with a gesture toward Jackson. Carter nods once, and Dillon rolls his eyes as he settles into his seat, carefully unbuttoning his jacket so that it doesn't pinch as he sits. Dillon is in a navy blue suit and Carter is in midnight black. Jackson, over near the bar, is dressed in charcoal grey. I'm relieved to find that I'm nowhere near overdressed. The women I can see are clothed in floor-length gowns, and the men are similarly attired in suits, although I do stand out somewhat in my white ensemble.

“He really doesn't like having anyone else overshadow him,” Dillon tells me, gesturing absently in Jackson's general direction. “You know, he was in your place only a couple years ago. He made a lot of waves when he first joined our little club, wanted to become a Champion within the first year.”

“Didn't quite make it?” I surmise.

“Hardly,” Carter cuts in dryly. “He spread himself too thin, tried to place in too many categories.”

“Doesn't he have to?” I question, excited to be able to guide the conversation immediately toward the Competition and the Champions. As I understand it, the Champions make up the Controller's inner circle, and any information I can gather on them might help me get closer to him. “I mean, don't you have to place in most of the different divisions?”

The Competition is a series of exclusive and highly competitive slave games based around the designations of the assets. You can have a team of up to five assets and each asset can enter two categories. The idea is to get the best overall score to become a Champion – it's not enough to win in just one category.

“That's one way to do it,” Dillon responds easily, “but it's tricky. You could place fifth in every category and still beat out someone who placed first in one category and then lost in all the others. You could also win by taking first in one category and then placing lower in all the rest. That's how I became a Champion.”

“Dillon here trained a pair of ferocious combat assets. Both took top scores in the combat category and then scored pretty well in the covert division. Then he entered two scholars that he bought from Ellaine and they placed pretty well, if I remember correctly.” Carter has a nostalgic look on his face. “But you scored low in the domestic category and you forfeited pleasure entirely.”

“You didn't enter pleasure at all?” I question. “Why not?”

“You can only enter five assets,” Dillon explains. “Each asset can only enter two categories. You can only have two assets in each category.”

“So I couldn’t enter my whole team in combat and covert, is that what you’re saying?”

“Essentially. If you want to utilize your entire team, you’ll need to enter all of the categories. Usually owners will enter their assets in the most similar fields. That leads to standard crosses of combat/covert and pleasure/domestic. Doing that, you'll always have one category that you take a forfeit in – as you only have a single asset left, and you can't enter it twice in the same division. It's usually the scholarly division that only gets entered once.”

“You could enter all the categories by doing non-standard crosses,” Carter interjects, “but then you'd have to cross train one of your combat assets in pleasure and one of your covert assets in domestics, etcetera.”

“That might not be such a problem for Zeke here,” Dillon says with a grin. “After all, he's already fucking a zero.”

“There's a difference between a pleasure asset and a Competition pleasure asset,” Carter counters with a shrug. “But it wouldn't just be one. You'd basically have to train all your assets in non-standard second categories.”

“Why do you think that is?” I wonder. “I mean, why not just have five assets each entered into one category?”

“It's more of a challenge this way. You have to create well-rounded assets. You can't just make them the best in their field, you have to make them the best in one field and then good at another.”

“Kind of makes the designations moot, though, doesn't it?”

“In some ways,” he answers. “Designations are less of a concern for Competition assets, but still necessary for the rest of them. A very small percentage of assets are used to compete, just like very few owners are actually Champions.” Carter waves a hand toward the rest of the room. “Most of these owners simply waited past the five year time limit to get more than the starting six assets. Not everyone is interested in training five Competition assets and only having the spare for their own needs.”

“And you?” I wonder. “Did you wait it out? Or are you still working with six assets?”

“I became a Champion by training pleasure assets,” he says with a lethargic smile, “but I don't focus on winning the entire Competition any more. Now I just train them for fun, and I generally only keep one asset at a time.”

“One asset? Isn't that...”

“Ridiculous?” Dillon interjects. “Yes, the rest of us think so, anyway.”

Carter gives him a look that's a little sour, but then lets it fade. He shrugs and says, “I just don't like to spread out my attention. One asset, perfectly trained to compete.”

“And where is your asset?” I wonder, my eyes glancing toward the far wall, wondering which asset is Carter's. Carter chuckles.

“I'm currently... well, in the market, shall we say? Once they win, the assets have really gone as far as I can take them, so I sell them and pick up another one. I've trained three already, and I'm just waiting to find a fourth that I can sculpt into the perfect pleasure asset.” He pauses to take a sip of wine, then says, “I hear you've got some eclectic tastes in pleasure assets.”

“That zero of his is stunning,” Dillon cuts in. “I wouldn't mind getting a closer look at him, if you're willing.”

“Perhaps after dinner?” I offer, hoping it's vague enough that I won't be expected to honor the promise.

“Oh course,” Dillon says benignly.

There's a small pause, and to pull the conversation away from Zero, I ask, “When you forfeit, how does that work?”

Carter answers, “Everyone who forfeits shares last place. The scoring works a bit like golf, where you're trying to get the least amount of points. So if you take a first place, you get one point, and so on down the line. Whoever forfeits shares the last place. So if twenty assets enter the category, then all the forfeits get twenty-one points added to their score.”

“That's another reason that scholarly is usually the category that owners take a forfeit in,” Dillon adds in. “Scholarly assets are harder to train, so less people enter, so the forfeit for that category is usually lower than others. In the pleasure category, a forfeit might get fifty points because forty-nine pleasure assets entered. That's rarely the case with the scholarly division.”

“You have to remember that some owners only enter one or two categories,” Carter tells me. “Assets are a lot more valuable once they've placed in a Competition, even if they don't win.”

I have to carefully hide my excitement at how much information this conversation is giving me. I try to sound offhanded as I ask, “And is it true that the Controller usually tries to buy the winning assets?”

“Usually just first and second place,” Carter says.

“What for? I mean, does he resell them?”

“They're never seen again,” Dillon says darkly. He holds a serious look for several seconds, then his face breaks into a grin. “It's all very dark and mysterious,” he laughs. “Personally, I think he's putting them in cryo-freeze and stockpiling them.”

I remind myself that there's still a chance that Dillon is the Controller. Anything he or Carter tell me about the Controller's mysterious actions could be misdirection or purposefully misleading. I have to make sure to qualify all the information they give me with the knowledge that they could be purposefully misleading me.

“He could be killing them off,” Carter counters Dillon. “The Controller could just buy them, cancel them, and then dispose of the bodies. It would be a smart move. Having too many Competition winners out there would reduce the exclusivity and value of the game. It would be better for his business to just get rid of the winners.”

“That seems like an awful waste of resources,” Dillon argues.

“The cost alone of cryo-freeze is outrageous,” Carter responds. “Not to mention, where would he put them? Someone would have seen-...”

“Are you two having this old argument again?” interrupts Jackson, returning to the table. “Give it up, guys.”

“Sorry,” Carter says contritely. He turns to me with a chagrined smile. “As you can tell, Dillon and I have debated this issue quite a bit. Sometimes it gets heated.”

“Listen, instead of arguing about it, why don't you two just ask the guy?” Jackson growls as he sits down. He has a glass of brown liquid with him – probably a bourbon he got from the bar.

“It's not that kind of relationship,” Carter counters. “We know who he is, but we're not friends. It's a business relationship. He still keeps most of his plans shrouded in mystery from his inner circle.”

“And you're sworn to keep his identity secret,” Jackson finishes angrily. “Yeah, I've gotten that spiel once or twice before.”

I realize that Jackson, as he is not a Champion, doesn't know who the Controller is. Or, at least, is pretending that he doesn't know. It could be a very clever ruse to distract me – having the Controller pretend to be fighting to get into his own inner circle, while secretly keeping an eye on his society. But a glance over at Jackson's bitter expression leads me to lean heavily toward the feeling that he is being honest, at least in this. That would leave my candidates for Controller as Dillon, Carter, or another owner that I haven't met. I have a strong feeling that Dillon and Carter are important – at least close to the Owner if not actually him – and I generally trust my instincts in situations like this.

“I've heard that there's a good chance you'll win the Competition this year,” Dillon says, his tone casual but I can tell that he's trying to placate Jackson. “Rumor has it that you've got an excellent team.”

“Didn't help me last year,” Jackson grumbles.

“Last year you were all over the place,” Carter tells him. “You spent so much time getting assets that you hardly had time to train them.” Well damn, that sounds ominously familiar. “Also, you bought a lot of assets who needed work – ones that were hardly at top shape by the time the Competition came around.” Hm. “Plus, you tried to train non-standard crosses, which is always more of a challenge.”

It's with a sinking feeling that I realize Carter could just as easily be describing me as Jackson. Am I going about this all the wrong way? Am I making novice mistakes without realizing it? Or did Jackson have a sound plan and just failed to execute it correctly? I realize with a feeling of dread that I'm going to have to carefully consider my tactics for the Competition and make my next purchases carefully. I only have one spare slot to put an asset – the sixth man that I'm allowed to own but who won’t be a part of my Competition team – and if Kiplan's health doesn't begin to improve, I might have to reserve that place for him. If I'm not careful, I could miss my chance and have to suffer another year in this monstrous society.

Jackson grumbles something in response that I can't make out. The conversation lulls, and to keep it from switching to a new topic I ask, “Who won last year?”

Jackson shoots me a dirty look, but to hell with it. It's not like I'm going to be able to make friends with him anyway.

“Vikram,” Dillon answers me. “He trained some pretty good combat assets and Reynard assisted him with a pair of well-trained pleasure assets. Standard crosses. He entered a single scholarly asset, too, but I think that one placed almost at the bottom.”

“I see. And how...”

The lights dim warningly for a moment, a cue for the guests to find their seats. Conversation begins to dwindle as the crowd settles. Dillon casts a glance over his shoulder and then stands.

“If you'll excuse me, gentlemen,” Dillon says to the table. “That's my cue. I need to make a speech.”

I watch Dillon walk to the platform. The musical assets had vacated, and I see that Vikram, Reynard, and Ellaine have joined him on the stage, along with a male and female owner that I don't recognize.

I cast a questioning glance to Cater and ask, “Is this normal?”

Carter shrugs and says, “The event is bigger this year. I expected that Dillon would have something going on, a reason to expand his guest list so suddenly.”

The lights dim again, cutting off further conversation. Dillon takes center stage, a smile on his face. His voice carries easily through the room as he says, “Good evening everyone. I know we're all hungry, so I'll try to keep this short.”

There are quiet chuckles from around the room. I take a moment to really look at Dillon in his natural surroundings. His black hair is cut short and styled so there's just a bit of a wave in it. His bangs are brushed back, revealing a strong widow's peak at his forehead that gives shape to his face. He has high cheekbones and a strong jaw, giving him very handsome, classical features. He's a good bit older than the rest of our table, and there would probably be wisps of white hair at his temples if he left the color natural. It would suite him, although he seems a bit too proper to allow it. His suit is a simple affair, with a long coat and a clean, fitted silhouette. It's not difficult to imagine the trim, fit body underneath. His looks combined with the elegant surroundings give the appearance of a very polished, very proper man. He almost embodies the head of a household. A rich, elegant, powerful man.

But nothing in his image tells me definitively – Is he the Controller?

“Some of you,” he continues, “may be wondering why I invited you all here tonight. After all, for years this gathering was a very small, very exclusive event. I won't keep you in suspense for long. My announcement tonight is two-fold. For the first, I need the assistance of this stunning woman beside me.”

He pauses again, and this time Ellaine steps up next to him. She's dressed in a blue, floor-length gown. It's a sheath style, with simple long sleeves, a plunging neckline, and a skirt that hangs like a curtain around her legs. Her black hair is pulled up in a bun on the top of her head, with little pieces of hair draped artfully around her face. Her makeup is subtle but elegant, with eyeliner giving her hazel eyes an almost cat-like appearance. Her lips are full and colored a smoky red. Her honey-colored skin looks vibrant and radiant in the light of the stage. She smiles serenely as she steps up next to Dillon, but her eyes are piercing and intelligent. Dillon glances at her and, in a move so smooth that I think it's likely they practiced with this event in mind, laces their fingers together.

“I would like to announce that Ellaine and I have been married in a private ceremony three days ago. May I introduce you to my wife, Ellaine Arcrest.”

There is a moment of shocked silence, then an outpouring of loud clapping and exclamations of surprise. As I clap, I glance at my table-mates. Carter has the same serene expression on his face – he likely knew already, then. Jackson, however, seems stunned. He casts a wide-eyed glance at Carter and hisses, “Isn't he gay?”

Carter actually rolls his eyes and says, “Physical attraction isn't the only reason to get married.”

Ah, a political marriage, then.

Almost on cue, Dillon says, “As many of you know, Ellaine's political connections on Satellite 30 allow her to run a series of shelters and boy's homes on several less prosperous Satellites. Those shelters function as a vital source of assets for her Scholarly asset training. However, due to a lack of space, Ellaine has been limited to the amount of assets she can house on her ship.” He throws his arms wide, raising Ellaine's hand in the process. “That will no longer be an issue, as the Arcrest Manor has ample room to handle untrained and undisciplined assets. I will be overseeing the initial handling, categorizing, and breaking of the assets. Ellaine, of course, will have first pick of the unskilled assets to train for the scholarly division. Then the rest will go to Dealers for the other Disciplines.”

He kisses Ellaine's hand, then lets her pull away and take a step back. Vikram steps next to Ellaine, and Dillon turns back to the crowd.

“Which brings me to my second announcement. Ellaine will be stepping up as our new Dealer for scholarly assets. I think many of you are aware that we haven't had a reliable source of Scholarly assets for several years. Vikram, as well, will be taking over as Dealer for the Combat assets.”

There's another small pause for murmurs and polite applause. I see Jackson lean toward Carter and I turn my attention toward them.

“Is it true that nobody knows what happened to Petir?” Jackson asks Carter in a quiet voice.

Carter smirks and says, “I'm sure  _ someone _ knows what happened to him. Unfortunately, it's probably the person who killed him.”

“You think he's dead?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“When you disappear in our circle, you generally don't show up again. He hasn't been seen in weeks. Actually,” Carter says, giving me a sidelong look, “the last time he was heard from, I've heard that he was meeting with you.”

I'm so shocked that I don't have a suitable response. How do I admit that we had a disagreement without making it seem like I'm admitting I had something to do with his disappearance? Why has no one mentioned this before now? Do the other owners actually think that I killed the first person I met in the Leash? So far, no one has shown resistance to my socialization efforts – except for Jackson, who seems to have several reasons to dislike me. Does that mean they all think I murdered the first Dealer I met, and they don't care? Should I deny it?

I'm saved from having to make a reply as Dillon continues.

“The Arcrest Manor will now function as a holding area for untrained assets. From there, the assets will be sold to dealers based on category. Ellaine for scholarly, Vikram for combat, Reynard for pleasure, Scarlette for covert, and Jones for Domestic. The first shipments have already arrived for processing. As a gift to each of you, you will find an untamed, unbroken asset in your room. This asset is yours to keep.”

A round of applause breaks out. Dillon smiles but makes a dismissive gesture.

“Don't get too excited,” Dillon cautions. “This asset will be wild, unruly, and untrained. If you haven't killed him in three weeks time, you can bring him back here to be broken and trained. I want you all to understand just how much effort and training go into the initial adjustment of an asset. These men are dangerous, and I wouldn't recommend unbinding them without a combat asset on hand. I have extra combat assets on hand if you’re in need of assistance. Whether you're interested in a challenge or simply a single, wild night, please make use of my gift.”

Just what I need, I think to myself. An asset with a bad attitude and no skills. My best option would be to leave him. But if I can take him and tame him myself in the three week period, would I be better off? And if I leave him without raping him first, will it stand out as suspicious?

Dillon continues, “I'm sure you're all tired of hearing me by now.” Chuckles from the crowd again. “Before I go, let me give a toast.” A domestic asset scurries in with a tray of champagne glasses for the owners on stage. The table already has glasses of champagne waiting, so I lift mine along with the rest of the crowd. “To a future filled with prosperity and wealth. May we continue to expand the horizons of mankind.”

The audience drinks and applauds as Dillon and the others leave the stage. It gives me a moment to think, as Dillon transitions and before the domestics start bringing out the food. It certainly seems like Dillon is the one pulling the strings in this society. However, would a leader trying to stay out of the spotlight bring so much attention to himself? What's the point of keeping his identity a secret if he makes it so obvious? Or is this part of the shifting movements of the Leash society? Is Dillon preparing to come into the open about being the Controller, so that he can lead his society from the front instead of directing from the shadows?

I feel a headache starting behind my eyes and take another drink of my champagne. It would be foolish to get drunk tonight, around so many potential threats and in such a precarious situation, but it would be equally dangerous to let stress dull my charisma. I have to appear calm and collected, to be casual but friendly, and to solidify bonds with these key players. I can't do that if I'm tied up in knots.

Honestly, I'm not sure I can do it at all.


	11. A Dance with Dodger - Zeke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm so late everyone. This weekend has been tremendously busy. I hope everyone is having a chill weekend and getting ready for the holidays. :) Also wanted to give a shout out to my awesome betas - Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways. They're the best!

Dinner is a seven course affair, as to be expected in such a refined atmosphere. We are served by a group of five assets – four to place the food at the table and one to explain what we're being presented with. As with many occasions where patrons are expected to dance and drink late into the night, dinner seems to be more about quality than quantity. It would be counterproductive to stuff the guests so thoroughly that they have to lie down, so serving sizes are small but decadent.   
The first course is an appetizer – sliced, smoked salmon folded and served on a slice of cucumber, carefully covered in a spoonful of white sturgeon caviar and topped with a drop of crème fraiche and a sprig of rosemary for garnish. It's a delicate mouthful, combining the salt of the caviar and the sweet of the crème. The cucumber adds a light, juicy flavor that compliments the dish well. Fish in any form is something of a delicacy on Satellites, considering how difficult they are to breed off-planet. This product was probably exported from Earth, adding accessibility requirements to the already steep cost of purchase and shipping. Despite its small size, this is likely to be one of the most expensive dishes of the meal.   
The second course is a soup – spiced pumpkin puree with a sprinkling of cinnamon on top and a swirl of white coconut milk around the center, served half-full in a bowl no larger than a coffee cup. Then comes another appetizer – savory crepes filled with lobster and cream cheese, folded in half and then curled into almost a rose-like shape. A sprig of dill garnishes the plate, curled around one of the bulbs like a rose-leaf. A salad follows – heirloom tomatoes, goat cheese, and black olives marinated in garlic and olive oil. Then comes the main course – seared duck breast on a bed of wilted greens, covered in orange glaze and complemented with seared blood oranges. There's a bit of a lull after the main course, as the dinner plan intends to allow the food the settle before dessert. We're presented with a small plate featuring a range of cheeses – brie, gouda, asiago, and roquefort to name a few. Each cheese bit is no larger than a thimble and accompanied by a variety of olives and nuts.    
Conversation during dinner, unfortunately, doesn't veer back to the Competition or the Controller, and I find that it would be too suspicious of me to steer it there. Instead, after congratulatory remarks, Dillon and Carter get into the topic of assets. They settle into what seems like a standard argument about pleasure assets – whether it's better to have a beautiful asset with little interest in sex, or a plain asset with a more wanton personality. Dillon argues that it's easier to train an asset to be more outgoing, while Carter seems to believe that it's less trouble to alter an asset's looks than his personality. I have to admit that it's a topic that I find distasteful, and I'm grateful when the assets serve the last course and put an end to the conversation.   
Dessert is a mango cheesecake cut in a cylindrical shape. It's served in the center of a rectangular plate.  On the left side is a small carafe of honey and citrus sauce and to the right is a scoop of coconut sorbet. Two long, twirling strips of fried and sugared orange rind are placed in between the three items. The plate itself is decorated with perfect dots of chocolate and caramel sauce. A single, edible white flower adorns the top of the cheesecake, like the cheesecake is merely a platform for the lovely flower on top of it. Looking more closely, I can see that the flower has also been fried and sweetened, and the sugar crystals adorning its petals give the illusion of the flower being made out of crystal.    
All seven courses are complemented with an accompanying liquor. Bourbon for the main course, red wine for the cheese course, and the dessert course is accompanied by a blood orange cocktail.  By the end of the meal, I'm feeling pleasantly buzzed and a lot less stressed, although I know that I'll have to watch my liquor intake for the rest of the evening. I have to be careful to balance out my disguise. I must be relaxed enough to seem natural, but not inebriated enough to make a mistake. It's a fine line.    
When the meal finishes and the assets have removed the dishes from the tables, the orchestra returns to the stage. The music is still classical in style, but the tempo is more upbeat this time, and I see a few owners taking their assets out onto the dance floor. I curse myself – I hadn't even thought of training Kip and Zero to dance. It hits me as a missed opportunity to showcase my assets, something I can hardly afford at this point. Could they have even managed in time, had I known earlier? Is it something I need to add to their training list for the future? I suppose there's no point in worrying about it at the moment, so I force myself to look away from the dancers.    
I find Carter staring at me, a smile on his lips. Dillon and Jackson are having a conversation at the bar, so it's just Cater and I at the table. He's leaning forward, his elbow braced on the tabletop, his chin in his hand. He nods casually toward the dance floor and asks, “Do you dance?”   
“Passably,” I respond with a shrug. The truth is that I'm quite proficient at dancing. I had classical dance lessons when I was very young, and I enjoyed them enough that the knowledge stayed with me. The few times that I've had opportunities to participate in formal dancing in recent years have shown that my skills are at least passable, so I'm not worried about embarrassing myself.    
“You don't have to dance with your own assets,” he informs me. “Only a few assets are trained in formal dance. It's considered something of a bonus if they are, as it's not an essential task for a pleasure slave. However, there's no rule against dancing with another owner's assets, or even another owner. I only mention it because that asset has been watching you since the music started, and I think he'd be willing to dance if you were so inclined.”   
“Oh?” I wonder. Carter nods to the far wall where Kip and Zero are kneeling. There's a long-haired asset standing beside them. He's dressed similarly to Zero – black leather pants that seem painted to his skin. His top is a violet silk button-down. The sleeves are unbuttoned and rolled to the elbow, which looks casual but is probably planned. His shoes are plain, flat boots, probably worn with a long night of dancing in mind. His hair is his best feature; long waves of chestnut strands hang past his shoulders, thick and gleaming and interspersed with lighter gold and darker auburn strands. His face is heart-shaped and pretty enough, but it's probably his mouth that gets the most attention. Even from across the room, I see it turn into a wicked grin as he says something in a hushed whisper to Kip that makes Kip blush. Zero glances up at me, and I don't know if he felt my gaze or had been periodically looking in my direction, but he meets my eyes and then nods to the long-haired asset. It's only then that I notice the green band around the standing asset's neck and remember my earlier conversation with Zero – this must be the asset that befriended Kip. The green collar tells me that he's obviously looking for new ownership, unlike my black-collared assets.    
The green collared asset glances at me and I see him still, the grin falling away from his face. I pause as well, uncertain how to proceed. What are the rules to addressing someone else's asset? I know that the green collar means he's for sale, but I'm not sure what that entails. Is he basically free game?   
From the corner of my eye, I see Carter gesture. The asset sees it too, and approaches us. The man's strides are long, and it takes him only a moment to reach us. He doesn't actually kneel so much as drops, sliding to his knees and shifting into the position of a pleasure asset. His arms lock behind his back, his head is thrown back, exposing his neck and chest in a graceful arch. His body tenses, and I never realized before how closely the position of a pleasure asset resembled a person in the throes of an orgasm. Perhaps it's only this man who can make it appear that way.    
“If it would please you, owner,” he says, and his voice is deep and just a bit husky. “This asset would like the honor of showing himself on your arm.”   
I glance at Carter, who smiles and shrugs.   
“Incubus is well-known for his dance skills. I'm sure you won't be disappointed.”   
“I wouldn't want to abandon your company.”   
He waves his hand dismissively. “Go have some time. Perhaps I'll find you later for a dance of my own.”   
“Of course,” I agree, then rise and hold out my hand to Incubus. “I accept your offer.”    
A grin splits Incubus's face as he numbly rises and takes my hand. His grip is strong, his hands warm as he pulls me onto the dance floor. I find myself grinning as he slips into my arms, taking the submissive position. He's taller than either Zero or Kip, his body long and lean, but he's still a bit shorter than I am. A slow waltz starts and he presses himself against me, moving easily with my lead. He ducks his head, and I find myself missing his smile. We make several circuits in silence before I can find a way to break the quiet.   
“You dance quite well,” I compliment, although the dance that we're performing doesn't take much skill. It's basically just turning slow circles around the dance floor in time with music.    
“Thank you, sir,” he responds formally.   
“I saw you talking with my asset earlier. Can I ask what you were saying?”   
He seems to startle at that question and hesitates for several seconds before blowing out a soft breath.    
“Ah jeez,” he says, and ducks his head lower. “Of course you'd ask that.”    
I can see the blush on his face even though he still won't look at me.    
“Well now I'm curious,” I tease. “Especially since you made Kip blush.”   
“Man, me and my big mouth,” he says, and leans his head embarrassed against my shoulder. “I was teasing him for having such a hot owner. I think my exact words were, 'Damn boy, you get to screw that? You don't have to zap me to get me into that bed.' So... yeah. Wasn't really expecting to have you ask about it.”   
I laugh – genuine and unforced. It's refreshing to see such an honest personality when everyone else seems so fake. When even I'm fake.    
“I can see why Kip likes you. Zero is a lot of things, but a conversationalist he is not.”   
Incubus chuckles and says, “Yeah, I gathered that.” He hesitates, then continues, “Seems like a nice guy, though.”   
“Zero probably wouldn't agree,” I tell him with a chuckle, “but I know what you mean. He's fiercely loyal.”   
“It takes a special kind of owner to inspire that kind of loyalty.”   
“Perhaps,” I respond, “although Kip and Zero are fairly special themselves.”   
“They seem like quality assets,” he says casually. “I was wondering if you might be in the market for another?”   
“If the right asset turns up,” I reply noncommittally.    
“I'm sure you've noticed my collar, so you know that I'm for sale. I've been in the Competition several times, and although I've never taken a top spot, I believe I could place well for you and help to train your assets.” Damn, that's a good selling point. But I can't come across as too desperate, so I shrug.    
“I'm not sure I'm even looking for another asset right now. I would have to think about it, and speak with your owner to discuss price. And I would want to know more about your skills.”   
I see the wicked grin come back onto his face before he leans in close. The dance has slowed to nearly a stand-still now, thankfully, because Incubus is pressed against me from his hips to shoulders. He must be up on his toes, too, because his lips brush against my ear as he speaks.    
“If you'd like to try me out,” he says, his voice dipping to a raspy whisper. “There's a fee, but I promise to make it worth your money.” And then his tongue darts out, trailing from the bottom of my jaw to the tip of my earlobe. I shiver, feeling a thrill of lust as he melds our bodies together. My pants are suddenly too tight. I'd like to take him right now, on one of these tables, in front of everyone. I realize that no one would stop me, that I could easily fuck him now and negotiate his purchase price later.    
The music changes tempo and I dip him. He gives a laugh, his head falling back, his body still pressed against mine. The urge to kiss him comes over me and I resist, and then question myself. Wouldn't it be better for my persona if I gave in? Isn't this what I'm supposed to be doing as an owner – giving in to temptation? Incubus tilts his head toward me, probably aware of my intentions. For the first time, we're nose to nose, with his gaze locked intently on mine.    
Those eyes.    
Deep blue irises cracked with fissures of blood red. Purple eyes until you look more closely and see the marbling of the azure and scarlet. I hadn't noticed – had thought it a trick of the light or a false lens. But his eyes, which look violet from a distance, are actually blue with streaks of red throughout, blending into the purple hue that I saw from a distance.    
Those eyes mean that he was once an occupant of Satellite 12, an area known for such poor radiation shielding that its entire population developed those strange, red eyes. A Satellite that was poverty stricken and corrupt, and one of the only early Satellites to remain functional without any major reconstruction.   
A Satellite that went cold over fifteen years ago, killing every person on its surface.    
A Satellite that I had a direct, if unintentional, hand in destroying.    
I jerk back, losing my grip on his waist, only to realize that I was supporting his weight. He gives a quiet noise of surprise and falls. I reach for him, but the drop is too short. He's already sitting before I can grasp him, blinking those strange eyes at me, perplexed. I take a look around, but it doesn't seem that we've garnered much attention other than a couple passing glances. When I look back, Incubus has lowered his head again, perhaps understanding what caused my distress. It's entirely possible that I'm not the first owner who shied away from his eyes in such a way.    
When he speaks, his voice is formal again. All traces of humor or mischief are gone as he says, “I apologize, Owner Price, if I have somehow offended you.”   
“No, I...” I say haltingly. “I was simply surprised. You gave no offense.”   
“Another dance then?” he offers hesitantly, a note of hopefulness in his voice.    
“Perhaps later,” I put him off. I can barely hear my words over the pounding of my own heart.    
“Of course, sir,” he responds, his voice flat. Empty. Hollow. “Do I have your permission to take my leave?”   
I feel ashamed at the amount of relief I feel at his question, but I can't help saying, “Yes. I wouldn't want to monopolize your time.”   
He rises gracefully from the floor and bows, backing away a few steps before straightening and turning. I watch him go, unable to take my eyes off of him. Could it be coincidence that he's here? That I've stumbled into one of the few people who were off-surface when Satellite 12 went cold? Is it simply random chance that he's asking for my purchase? Did the tragedy make those strange eyes rarer and more valuable in this circle? Could his eyes be faked or altered? He would have been young when the tragedy happened – probably in his early teens – but he's within the correct age range. Did he lose people when it happened? His family? His parents?   
Incubus crosses the dance floor slowly, returning to his place at the far wall. As he walks past, I see him give a disappointed shrug to Kip, who's watching with concern. Then another owner catches Incubus's hand and the grin comes back to the long-haired asset's face. He's pulled into another dance, and by then the smile is firmly seated on his features.    
But somehow, it looks more brittle now than it had before.    
I turn away, and I'm at the bar before I've made a conscious decision to go there. One of the domestic assets comes up and I order a shot of whiskey, down it, and then order a second without hesitation. As the burn of the second joins the lingering burn from the first, I finally feel my nerves start to settle. I order a mixed drink and give myself a couple minutes to sit at the bar and gather my thoughts. I need to calm myself, need get my mask back in place and pretend like I haven't just had a gruesome shock that reminded me of a lifetime of guilt. The liquor helps, and I'm just starting to feel normal again when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I give a little start and turn to find Carter behind me, a smile playing on his lips.    
“I was wondering if you'd like another dancing partner?” he asks, extending a hand for mine. “Since I can see that Incubus moved on.”   
“Oh,” I hesitate, then take his hand. “Of course.”   
He takes my hand and leads me out onto the dance floor, my drink forgotten but my head still buzzing with alcohol and anxiety. I take some calm, steadying breaths before he turns to me. When we fall into place, it's with a more polite distance than I'd had with the long-haired asset, although still close enough to be intimate. Carter takes the lead and I fall naturally into the following position – an easy exchange for me as I have been trained to dance with both men and women. Same-sex couples are a large part of the population, so some of the more restrictive, antiquated gender roles of dancing have fallen away.    
I notice, once we're face to face, that Carter's shoes have a significant heel on them. Previously, he had been just a touch shorter than I am, but now his height is nearly equal to mine, if not a bit taller. As we are now eye-to-eye, I'm struck by just how pretty his eyes are. They're gray with a bluish tone, and unlike my own nearly solid blue eyes, his are marbled with a lighter gray, like sunlight streaming through a cool river. I wonder if it's because of the shock that Incubus gave me, that I'm so focused on eyes all of a sudden.    
“I think you made a good choice passing on the Incubus,” Carter tells me as we begin to move. His hands are firmly but politely seated at my waist and shoulder. His movements are fluid and confident, easy to follow. He's comfortable with dancing and not nervous at all about conversing with me.   
“What makes you say that?”   
“He's got a record of being unreliable in Competitions. He's placed very well a few times, but he's also placed at the very bottom. He didn't place very well for Jackson last year, which is why he's being replaced.”   
“Jackson?” I ask, startled.    
“Mm. Didn't you know? Incubus is Jackson's spare, previously his Competition pleasure asset. He drastically overpaid for him, though, so undoubtedly he's trying to recoup some of the cost.”   
“Is he still valuable? Without being a Competition asset?”   
“Oh yes,” he responds, and fluidly moves me into a turn as he speaks. “His previous Competition experience alone would make him a good trainer, even to non-Competition pleasure assets. He's getting a bit old to be brought out as a showpiece, but he could be someone's private bed-warmer. And he's still currently very popular. He's beautiful and has a natural charisma that makes him a hit at parties like this. It's one of the reasons Dillon asked Jackson to bring him, despite the fact that bringing green collar assets to a party is usually taboo.”   
“I noticed that there don't seem to be any other assets for sale here.”   
“No, it's not really the place for such a thing. If you're looking for something in particular, all of the dealers are here.”   
“I'm not sure what I'm interested in at the moment. Just browsing, I suppose.”   
“I would recommend that you look over one of Ellaine's assets for your next purchase.” He smiles and swings me into another turn with a little more force than necessary, making my hair fan out. His arms keep me steady, though, and he grins. “Actually, I'll ask Dillon to set up the meeting. I'm sure his new wife will be delighted to meet with you. I think it would be good for you to talk to her,” he says, and his voice becomes a little more serious. “The Controller is very specific about the people he lets into the Leash, and generally he makes sure those people have no way or no interest in leaving. However, the adjustment can be difficult. I think it's probably a good idea for you to talk to Ellaine. She had more difficulty than most accepting this lifestyle, but she's come to embrace it fully.”   
“I would be very grateful if you could set that up,” I tell him, trying to keep just how excited I am out of my voice. I'd been contemplating how to manage the same thing all evening, and now Carter is offering an easy solution.    
“You're a very handsome man, you know.” And then he grins again. “I'm sure you hear that all the time, but it's true.” He moves in just a bit closer and says, “I'm glad you decided to join us. I think you'll do great things here.”   
For a moment, I think he might kiss me. Panicked, I wonder how to react. Is that the price of setting up my meeting with Ellaine? Would I be selling myself too cheaply to allow it? Would I offend him if I backed away, ruining my chances of getting more information from him? But then he eases back, letting the moment fade. The song ends and we come to a halt.    
“Can I cut in?” Dillon asks, coming up to us in the pause between songs. “I was hoping for the next dance.”   
I see Carter frown momentarily, then his face smooths back into a placid expression.    
“I was hoping for another dance,” he says, transferring my hand to Dillon's, “but I suppose it can wait.”   
Dillon moves into my arms, casually taking the dominant role. Dillon is taller than I am, even without heels. Dillon's dark brown hair is gelled and styled, his deep, brown eyes find mine and there's something predatory there, something strong and primal. Like Zero, Dillon is intense and dangerous. Unlike Zero, I don't feel safe with Dillon. Far from the protective feeling of Zero's arms around me, Dillon makes me feel hunted, makes me feel like prey.    
“You're certainly popular tonight,” Dillon comments as we begin to move. “I had to promise Magdelene that I'd ask you to save the next dance for her.” I give a soft groan and let my head fall forward. Dillon laughs heartily. “A bit clingy, isn't she?”   
“Yes,” I respond, but I don't want to cause unnecessary drama, so I follow with, “She seems nice enough, though. She put these clothes together for me. And she's very pretty.”   
“She has her charms,” Dillon replies, “but that's not what I wanted to speak with you about. I wanted to have a word about your zero.”   
“Oh?” I ask, suddenly feeling trepidation. Could Zero have been seen during his trek through the forest to assist me?   
“He's a splendid specimen, and I'm very interested in him,” Dillon replies. “I doubt you'd be willing to part with him at this time, but I wanted to negotiate a taste.”   
“A taste?” I parrot back to him, uncertain. The music pulls us into a turn and as we circle, I notice several owners in clusters with the pleasure assets. The assets are plying their skills in various ways; either dancing erotically on the tables, performing various sensual acts on owners, or actively being taken by one or multiple owners. A glance to the far wall shows that Kip and Zero are two of the few that haven't been called yet.    
“I know you're territorial about your assets,” he says. “I was thinking a kiss and fellatio. I assume your asset is experienced in oral. It would be an added bonus if you would consent to fucking him while I take him from the front.”   
“And what do I get from this deal?” I wonder. He smiles, a predatory thing.   
“I heard you speaking with Carter about Ellaine – we'll call this my price for setting up the meeting. And I'll even take it one step further,” he offers. “I'll ask her to give you a tour of her facilities and her stock.”   
That's too good of an opportunity to pass up.    
“Sounds like a fair exchange. However, I want your agreement that you won't approach Zero without me being present. I can't guarantee your safety otherwise.”   
“A wise precaution, and one I would have insisted on anyway. I like that your zero is dangerous, but I'm not foolhardy enough to put my hands on him without his owner.”   
“When did you want to arrange this?”   
“Later this evening,” he tells me, and I see him glance over my shoulder, “I have patience. Besides, it seems like the females have found us.”   
I glance in the direction he's looking and see Ellaine and Magdelene strolling over. Dillon separates from me and pulls his new wife into his arms, just as Magdelene slips into mine. I smile at her, repressing an exasperated sigh as she presses her cleavage against me. I certainly appreciate a woman who knows what she wants, but I would appreciate it more if she weren't so obvious about it. Especially since our few interactions have been about sex and business transactions, I can be fairly certain that she's not following me around for my charming personality. But such is the price of being wealthy and beautiful, as I well know from experience.    
Another hour passes. It seems like I dance with everyone in between slipping to the bar for drinks. Things start to slide by easier as the night goes on, and it seems that my stresses simply disappear. I call Kip and Zero to my side as I finally leave the dance floor and take some time to watch the other owners interact with their assets. I see the long-haired asset again, surrounded by a group of men, but I don't stray toward him. When I look at him, I feel so ill that I want to heave. The later it gets in the night, though, the less I can remember about why I feel that way. Eventually, I forget his presence altogether.    
Dillon finds me when it's getting late enough that some of the others have already left. Earlier in the evening I bumped into James Peterson again, and now we're sipping bourbon and watching a pair of brunette assets give each other fellatio. Zero and Kip are kneeling at my feet. I have a spinning feeling in my head that tells me I've had more alcohol than is wise. I should probably take my leave. That option is taken from the table when Dillion approaches and gestures for me to follow. Then he turns and walks away from me, like there's no uncertainty that his orders will be followed. I do rise quickly and trail after him, with Kip and Zero coming up behind me. Zero stills scans the crowd nervously as he walks, but he seems a lot less threatened by the crowd of drunks than he had been of the crowd at the Line.    
Dillon leads us across the room, to a less populated corner. Jackson and Carter are there, as well as Ellaine, Magdelene, Reynard, Vikram, and the two other dealers that I'm not familiar with. They're seated in a semi-circle around one of the tables, far enough away that I can see the intention is for the table to serve as some kind of stage. The tablecloth has been stripped away, leaving only the bare marble top of the sturdy table. Dillon perches himself on the edge of the table as I step into the circle, bringing Kip and Zero with me. Dillon gestures for Zero to step forward and he does, putting himself between me and the dark haired owner.    
“Your master,” Dillon addresses to Zero, “has promised me a taste.”   
Zero glances at me, but his expression is neutral. If he feels betrayal from this deal, he doesn't show it. Perhaps he's simply prepared for this possibility. I nod my consent and Zero steps between Dillon's legs. I think that Zero would have gone to his knees immediately if Dillon didn't put his hands on Zero's shoulders and bring his face in close.    
“Show me how well Zeke has trained you in pleasure,” Dillon tells him. “Show us what a capable master he is.”   
It's a challenge, and it's the right tactic to take with Zero. I see his nervousness fall away in place of his mission, and suddenly his body is relaxed and pliant. He tilts his head for Dillon's kiss, allowing his mouth to fall open at Dillon's questing tongue. He even remembers to let his eyes slide shut, a gesture of trust that he's struggled with during all our training sessions. He seems uncertain where to place his hands, but eventually settles them against Dillon's chest, clinging more than bracing to push away.    
I watch them, and I'm so proud of Zero for taking my lessons and becoming what I need.     
And sick to my stomach that I've turned him into this.    
The kiss breaks, and I resist the urge to snatch Zero away. I regret letting my judgment become impaired, because it's messing with my ability to suppress my true emotions. Zero is mine, and it's becoming harder to remember why I allowed Dillon to put his hand on my asset.    
“Take your clothes off,” Dillon says gently to Zero, and I'm close enough that I can hear the nearly-whispered words. “And get on the table. Your owner has agreed to take you from behind while I use your mouth.” He runs his thumb along Zero's bottom lip. “It's certainly a talented mouth, I'm excited to see what else it can do.”   
Zero nods and complies. I feel like I'm frozen in glass as Zero deftly removes his clothing, handing the items off to Kip. Zero doesn't seem to be concerned about this situation, but my head is whirling. I don't want to share Zero, but I can't think of an escape that doesn't hurt my relationship with these people. I need to form these alliances. I need this. I need to do this to end this. To rescue Zero and Kip. It's the only way.    
Zero is on the table then, all lean angles and hard muscle. His scars stand out in stark relief in the room's overhead lighting, like white lines all over his body. His left side is to the audience that's gathered around us – I only partially notice that it's grown from just the dealers and a few others to a genuine crowd of interested owners – so they're all presented with the cracked glass scars on his hip. Zero's body is relaxed and positioned on all fours. He glances over his shoulder at me, but his eyes show no signs of anger or fear. Just quiet, stoic acceptance of the situation. At heart, Zero is a soldier, reacting to the situation with as little emotional response as possible. I can only think that it's a quality that will serve him well in this situation.    
I step up behind him. I find that this table has been lowered, so Zero's ass is at hip height. I know that Zero was immaculately prepared earlier – stretched and lubed with a non-drying lubricant. I free my cock and stroke it to hardness, then place a hand on Zero's hip to warn him of my entrance. My cock slides in without resistance, and Zero gives only a small grunt at the adjustment. I give a few shallow thrusts and then pause as Dillon steps up to Zero's head. Dillon places a hand on Zero's cheek and Zero opens his mouth, then Dillon presses his hardened cock down Zero's throat. Like me, Dillon has only freed his cock from his clothes, so he's still fully dressed. He begins moving rapidly in Zero's mouth without giving Zero time to adjust, giving hard, deep, deliberate thrusts. I see a bit of saliva stain Dillon's trousers, but Dillon takes no notice. Zero is making wet, gasping, gulping noises, and Dillon groans and throws his head back. I resume thrusting as well, adding my momentum to the movements that shove at Zero's body.    
I know that I'm losing track of time, because it seems like almost a second later that Dillon is coming with a cry, thrusting his cock deep into Zero's throat and emptying himself into the pinned asset's stomach. Zero swallows with ease – fellatio really is one of his better skills. I begin thrusting more earnestly, frustrated with the way Zero's body moves away from me with each thrust. I pull him back and let his legs drop to the floor, so that he's bent over the table and I can pound into him. He groans, but it's not a sound of pain. Heat builds in my groin and I've forgotten everything – the crowd, the ball, the whole damn mission – as my need to mark Zero with my seed becomes all encompassing.    
I orgasm with a strangled scream and then go limp against my asset, panting against his back. I hear applause from our audience but I ignore it. Beneath me, I can feel Zero's heart beating steadily. I'm so proud of him. He's amazing, to do this for me.     
I pull away and a domestic asset approaches with a towel. I accept it, wipe off my cock, and put myself away. I turn to see Kip helping Zero to clean up and redress. Once he's finished, I gesture for Kip to approach and then send him to find our room. I take a breath, knowing that I'll have to exchange a few more words with the other owners before I can retire for the night. That's it, though. The last thing I need to do before I can rest.   
That's it. That's all I've got left in me for the night.


	12. A Dangerous Evening - Kip POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Christmas is almost over! Yay! (I might be the only thinking that, lol.) Please let me know what you think of this chapter, I'm hoping to get more time to write once the holiday is over. So far, it's been a super busy couple of weeks. Have a happy holiday!
> 
> Once again, I can't give my betas enough praise. Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways are the absolute best! I can't thank them enough.

Master Zeke is drunk.

Not that I'm particularly surprised. Social drinking is a large part of these gatherings. The drinks are made strong with expensive liquors, and Master Zeke has never been hesitant about having alcohol at public engagements. He's certainly not the most inebriated owner present tonight – there are a few that might need carried back to their rooms – but he's drunker than I've seen him before. He's not a sloppy drunk. Actually, he manages to keep his composure pretty well, but it's easy for me to see that his natural grace and quick wit are dulled. He seems exhausted and out of sorts. I have to think, given the amount of powerful people he's in contact with tonight, that it isn't the wisest choice of actions.

In short, Master Zeke is a drunken idiot.

I try to pull back my temper as I stumble across the hall to find someone who knows which room we're in. Master Zeke, behind me, has just finished fucking Zero and letting another owner take Zero's mouth. I'm... I don't even know how I feel about it. Irrationally, furiously angry. Angry that Zeke let it happen to Zero, angry that Zeke was so careless about it, angry that Zeke would so easily share Zero with someone else. Zero didn't deserve that! Zero has been loyal and dedicated to Zeke! Zero deserves to be treasured and sheltered! He doesn't deserve to be used like that!

I'm angry, too, that I let myself be fooled. If I'm honest, I may be angrier at myself than at Master Zeke. I mean, honestly, what did I think was going to happen? What did I think he was training us for? Did I really think it would be like the afternoon in the garden every time? That was a dream, and this is the reality we live in.

My head is pounding and my anger cools quickly, leaving nothing behind but the pain in my skull. It's my fault for deluding myself. For getting caught up in Master Zeke's dream world and forgetting what it's really like. I stumble toward the bar feeling depressed and miserable, half-blind from the pain. Between the stress of the evening, the noise of the party, and now the strain of watching Zero be used, I'm not surprised that I have a headache, but it couldn't be a less opportune time. Most likely, we won't return to our craft until late tomorrow, and I won't have access to pain medication until then. I should have taken some before we left, but I didn't want to risk seeming inebriated or making a stupid mistake at this party. Now, though, I wish I hadn't been so careful.

At the bar, one of the brought-in domestics gives me our room number. His name is Eric and he's a nice enough kid. I didn't train him, but I worked with him several times while I was still a domestic and he was always sweet-tempered, if a little shy. He seems surprised to see me. Then again, he probably assumed that I died when I was sold off. I take the room number and wave off his offer of directions. He blushes embarrassedly – forgetting that I worked here more years than he did.

I turn and head back toward Master Zeke. The lights have dimmed now that the party is almost over. The classical music has been done for hours, replaced by modern techno. In the dim lighting, I stumble through the throngs of people gathered around low tables, watching assets in different erotic displays. I try to avoid getting too close, but there are some areas where congestion makes it necessary to walk within touching distance of the participants. 

I'm almost on top of Dodger before I realize it's him. He's completely naked, his clothes in a haphazard pile on the floor. His hair is spilling over his shoulders in a messy cascade, his makeup just a bit smeared around the eyes. He's on all fours, perched on a low table and surrounded by a semicircle of owners. One of them is taking him from behind, two others are palming their cocks and obviously waiting for a turn. Several more are just watching, half-hard in their designer suites.

Dodger glances up and notices me. He grins, and his eyes are fever bright. Damn, he's definitely drunk. He throws his head back and moans, snapping his hips against the man behind him. Another man reaches out and lays a hand against Dodger's face, and Dodger runs his tongue along the man's palm seductively until the hand is finally retracted. When the man steps back, Dodger glances my way and gestures for me to approach.

I don't want to – honestly, I'd like nothing more than to be gone from this entire place. But two of the owners look my way and I don't think it would be polite to refuse. I approach Dodger warily, not afraid of him but certainly apprehensive about gaining the attention of so many owners.

The closer I get, the more obvious it is just how drunk Dodger is. I can see the color on his cheeks even through his make-up, can see the way he tilts awkwardly with every thrust. Still, his smile looks genuine. If he's not having a good time, then he's certainly faking it convincingly.

“He~e~ey,” he intones, then gives a drunken little hiccup. “Sweetie! Where ya been?”

“I-...” but I don't get a chance to respond, because I'm close enough now that Dodger can dart his hand out and grab the front of my shirt, then tug me down until we're face-to-face. Until our lips meet. Until he's kissing me, his tongue darting out to taste me as I gasp in surprise. He puts a surprisingly sweet taste in my mouth, like pineapple juice and pomegranate syrup. It's only after he's pulled back with a laugh that I notice the sharp tang of alcohol, probably rum or vodka. I stand there dumbly as he drops his shoulders and inclines his back, almost wagging his hips excitedly. He would almost look like a puppy if it weren't for that lithe, cat-like body and that Cheshire grin on his face.

“Sorry blondie!” he giggles. “Couldn't help myself!” He hiccups again. “That mouth is just too damn cute! Wanted to do that all night!”

Dodger's little show has caught the attention of the surrounding group. One of the owners turns to me and says, “Who's this?”

I can't bolt, even though it's my instinctive response. I try to tell myself that I'm not for sale so they can't touch me, but the man's sudden hand on my shoulder proves that as a lie. He turns my face to look at him, but I can't meet his eyes. His hand is on my chin, his thumb stroking across my lip suggestively. My heart hammers in my chest. If he tries to force me, I won't be able to fight him, even though I know this isn't what Master Zeke would want. The man steps closer, his body brushing along mine. I shut my eyes, trying to swallow my panic. I don't know what to do.

“Hey,” Dodger barks, “He's got a black collar, sir. You can't just-”

The man cracks him across the face with a back-handed blow, snapping his head around. Dodger hesitates a moment with his face turned, and when he looks back his eyes are much clearer. There's a bright spot of blood at the corner of his mouth and he licks at it, peaking his tongue out from between his lips to dab at the cut. Then he arches and looks up at the owner with a leer.

“I gotta reckless mouth,” Dodger says breathlessly. “You wanna show me a better use for it?”

The owner turns – I am apparently forgotten in favor of easier game – and has his cock down Dodger's throat so fast that I don't even see him take it out of his pants. Or was it out the whole time and I was simply too startled to notice? Dodger makes loud, wet sucking sounds that are probably mostly for show. The man in his ass and the three surrounding him seem to get more excited by the noises he's making. They groan and palm their cocks or run their hands along Dodger's thighs. I stand there, frozen, until the group becomes distracted by the man in Dodger's ass hitting orgasm. Only then, while they're distracted, does Dodger dare to glance my way. He meets my eyes despite the fact that there's still a cock in his mouth, roughly fucking his throat. He glances pointedly at me and then drags his eyes toward where I came from. The message is clear: Get out of here while you can. He glances back at me again, giving me a look that can only be described as apologetic, then shuts his eyes.

I back away slowly. Once again, my instincts are screaming at me to do something else. This time, they want to barrel into that circle and drag Dodger away. He doesn't deserve to be treated so roughly, so callously. His owner isn't even watching, isn't even around. But the only thing I could possibly do would be to get myself put up on that table beside him. I retreat with a helpless feeling in my chest, trying not to listen to the noises Dodger makes behind me.

When I get back to where I left Zero and Master Zeke, I find that they're already headed to meet me. Zeke is... well, not weaving exactly, but certainly not walking in a straight line. Zero is hovering protectively beside him and it sends a spike of anger through me again. Damn it Zeke. Why can't you see how much he adores you? And Zero... Well, there isn't anything Zero can do about his situation, but it still hurts me to see him give so much to Zeke and get so little in return.

“You get the room number?” Zero asks in a low, almost unintelligible whisper. His voice is rough from the recent abuse to his throat, and if I didn't have the context clues I'm not sure I would have understood him.

I nod and tell him, “Follow me.” As I turn to lead them, I notice that Master Zeke's arm is casually draped over Zero's shoulders. Or, as I think is more likely, it simply looks casual. Zero probably slipped himself under Zeke's arm for balance. Can't have our owner seem fall-down drunk, now can we?

Even if he is.

The guest wing is directly off of the main ballroom, which is convenient and probably intentional for situations like this. When I worked as a domestic in the Arcrest Manor, there were certainly times when the domestics were left to carry a drunken owner back to his room, and the proximity was a large benefit to us. It serves the same purpose now, when Zero is half-carrying our owner. Luckily, our room is at the near end of the hall.

There's a keypad on the wall outside our room, and Master Zeke's key gets us entrance. The inside is much like I remember it – dark wood on the walls and floors, some thick green rugs, a large sleigh bed with a hunter green comforter, a sitting area with two couches and a fireplace, and a large bathroom in the back. Even though it's been more than a year since I was here as a domestic, it all seems very familiar.

The bound and gagged asset on the floor is new, though. That I don't remember at all.

“Owner Arcrest's gift,” Zero says seriously when I hesitate in the doorway. He pushes me inside, then leads Zeke in as well and shuts the door.

I had forgotten that Owner Arcrest promised each of the guests an untrained asset as their parting gift. Forgot, or possibly put it from my mind. I've dealt with some untrained assets in my time as a domestic, and it's not a pleasant first few months. Breaking them of the instinct to try to escape or find help is difficult both mentally and physically. It takes an amount of cruelty that I hadn't previously thought Master Zeke was capable of. After tonight, though, I'm not so sure.

The boy on the floor makes a high pitched noise. He's young, as they usually are, probably only eighteen or nineteen. He has bright, natural red hair and creamy skin splattered with freckles almost everywhere I can see. The gag in his mouth has a thick ball in the center, and the strap that loops around his head pins some of his short, curly hair to his head. His eyes are filled with tears, giving his emerald irises a crystalline appearance. He's slim, with narrow shoulders and hips. His arms are crossed in front of his chest and then tied with nylon ropes as thick as my thumb. His legs are bent at the knee and then similarly bound. He's on his side now, although he was probably posed in a kneel at first. He would have been drugged as well – almost all new assets are kept lightly drugged into docility when the owners want to make use of them – but that was hours ago. His eyes dart between the three of us and it's obvious that he's fully lucid at this point.

Zero and I turn our attention to Master Zeke. This is the first asset he's received as a gift and his actions now will let us know what he plans to do with the gift. Use him? Sell him? Or will he be folded into our group as a permanent fixture? And Master Zeke is the first owner for this asset. This is probably the red-headed asset's first interaction with an owner in the Leash. Master Zeke's actions tonight will set the tone for how the new asset will be treated and what he can expect from his new life.

Master Zeke blinks blearily at the tied form on the floor. Then he says, “Zero, do something with that.” And then climbs onto the bed – fully clothed – and passes out.

Great.

Zero moves toward the tied form and the boy makes a high, terrified sound through the gag. It makes Zero pause and glance at me. I sigh and kneel in front of the frightened redhead. I don't bother to remove the gag – he'll only scream for help. Instead, I run my fingers through his hair and along his cheek, freeing some of the strands caught in his gag. His eyes come to mine and they're pleading, but there's nothing I can do.

Calmly, I tell him, “Nothing's going to happen to you tonight. My name is Kip and this is Zero. He's going to pick you up and move you into the bathroom. We're going to let you sleep in there. No one will bother you. You should try to rest.”

I move back, and Zero takes the cue to move in and lift the light form. This time, the noises the boy makes are of protest, an angry whine through his nose, noise that the gag can't block. He squirms and thrashes when Zero lifts him, but he's bound securely. Zero tries to be gentle, but it's awkward to lift the squirming boy in the position he's in. I see a fresh wash of tears spill down the boy's face as Zero carries him into the lavish bathroom.

Once inside, I have Zero cut one of the ropes that binds the boy's legs in the kneeling position. I have to get a small knife from the mini-bar to do it, and the boy tracks the tool warily and intensely. If he were free, he'd lunge for that knife and try to stab us. I know that, but I don't blame him. I remember how hard my first days were, how much I struggled and fought. Eventually, though, you realize that it's all for nothing.

The knife is hardly bigger than my index finger and meant to cut lemons for cocktails, so it takes Zero a while to saw through the cord. I sit on the edge of the tub, feeling dizzy and ill. We're to the point of the headache where everything feels a little distant, like I'm trapped in a fog of pain. If I could just sit perfectly still for the rest of the night, I think I would be okay. Every movement sends a spike of agony through me.

The rope finally snaps, and Zero settles the boy on his back. His legs are still bound together, and he immediately aims a kick at Zero, which Zero deflects casually with an arm. The boy topples to his side and kicks out again, but Zero simply moves out of the way. A few more minutes of struggling and the form sags, exhausted. Zero sits him back up and lets him lean against the wall.

The boy is fighting not to weep and failing. I make myself move to get some tissues and wipe the tears from his face, even though he roughly pulls away from me. I'm not paying enough attention, though, with the headache clouding my judgment. I miss the moment when fear turns to anger again, and I'm lucky Zero is standing so close. He's able to yank me back by my silk top as the boy tries to headbutt me, only missing by a hair's breadth. The quick movement makes my head spin dizzily and I topple onto my side and fight not to retch. When I turn back, Zero has the boy pinned against the wall, one arm pressed against his throat, and the boy is squirming and struggling in panic as his airway is blocked.

“Zero stop!” I call out. “Put him down!” Zero is already dropping him before I finish the statement. I don't think he actually meant to hurt him. From Zero, it was probably more of a warning. “It was my fault, I got too close. I'm the one who should know better.”

There's a moment of silence punctuated only by the boy's wet, desperate breaths as he tries to get enough air through his nose. I wish I could remove the ball gag, but I know he'll only scream. Waking Zeke tonight... well, that would be a mistake.

“Can you put him in the bathtub, Zero?” I ask more gently. Instead of replying, Zero just complies, picking up the light youth and dropping him into the large, empty bathtub. I exit to the main room and pull some spare blankets out of a wooden chest. They're older cotton blankets, comforters that are a few years out of style. The domestics would keep them around for the pleasure and domestic assets sleeping on the floor. I get a strong smell of cedar as I pull a blanket out – it reminds me of how many times I put the blankets in these chests when I was a domestic cleaning up after the yearly gathering.

I push those thoughts aside and shut the lid with a quiet click, taking the blanket back into the bathroom. Once inside, I wrap it around the boy in the tub, careful not to get close enough for him to lash out. Zero watches, wary but silent.

“You'll be safe in here for tonight,” I tell the boy gently, not sure if he's even listening to me.

When the boy is as comfortable as I can make him – and honestly, he'll probably thrash that blanket off in a few minutes anyway – I back away and turn out the light, leaving only the low lights above the mirror on to illuminate the room. Then I leave the room, this time trailing Zero, and shut the door. 

When we're out of the room, I sigh and lean my back against the closed door. I can hear angry, nasal protests from inside, but they're muffled. He'll tire soon, and he's as safe and comfortable as I can make him for the time being.

Oddly, it's Zero who questions my decision to leave the new asset. He steps in front of me and asks, “Shouldn't we unbind him?” His dark eyes are concerned and confused, and I give myself a moment to stare at them before I respond. I'm so tired that I wish I could just sit down on the floor and go to sleep, but Zero deserves an explanation.

“We don't have anything else to tie him with,” I reason. “The domestics are busy right now, they won't be able to provide us with any bindings until the party is over, and that could be hours. I think we're both too exhausted to want to hold him down all night, because that's really the only other option. You saw the bindings, they're sturdy and as comfortable as possible. If we untie him, you'd have to put him back in basically the same position before we went to sleep.”

“And the gag?”

“He'll spend all night screaming if we take it out.” As if to illustrate my point, there's a muffled yell from one of the nearby rooms, followed by a crack and a sound of pain. These rooms are pretty well insulated against sound, so it must be the room next door. If I listen closely, I'll probably be able to hear the terrified weeping that comes next. “Unless you're willing to beat him until he stops, the gag has to stay.” Zero looks a little ill at the thought. “I'm not saying that's something we should do,” I console. “I'm just trying to make you understand that I'm trying to choose the better of two bad options.”

“I see,” he says, but his brow is still furrowed. He's having trouble accepting the situation as it stands. “Should one of us sleep in there?” Zero asks, gesturing to the bathroom. I shake my head.

“He won't sleep if he has someone's attention. He'll either be too terrified or he'll be begging to be let go. The only way he'll get any rest is if he's alone.”

He's quiet for several seconds and then asks, “...What if he has to urinate?”

I shrug and say, “That's why he's in the bathtub.” Zero still looks uncertain. “We'll clean him up in the morning,” I assure him. “If anything even happens. They probably didn't give him anything to drink for the last few hours, so it's unlikely that he'll need to go.”

“Should we...”

“If we take the gag off to give him a drink, he'll scream and try to bite us. Even if we manage to get some water in him, we'll have to fight him to put the gag back in. I don't know about you, but I'm too exhausted to manage it.” I frown at him, my patience growing thin. Then I rub at my forehead as the pain flares. I have to wait until it abates before I can say, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be short with you. I just... I've dealt with untrained assets in the past. It's not... It's not pleasant. Until they really understand that they can't escape, they're so focused on freedom that nothing else matters. Some of them get it quicker than others, but this one... Well, he seems like a spitfire. If he's stubborn, it could be months before he breaks. Until he gives up escaping and starts trying to work with us, there's not much we can do to help him.”

Zero seems to absorb that for a moment, then quietly says, “I've never... freedom was never an option. So I never experienced anything like that.”

“It's hard,” I admit to him with a wane smile. “I don't know if it's as hard to watch as it is to experience, but I've done both. Tomorrow, after Master Zeke activates his chip, he can take the boy's voice away so he doesn't scream all the time. That was standard practice when I was a domestic, no voice for the first six months. The owner said they were there to learn, anyway, so they could just listen. But Master Zeke didn't activate the chip tonight, so all we can do is leave him gagged.”

“And after that?”

“A lot of it will be up to Zeke. If he puts one of us in charge of the new asset, then we might be able to help teach him. But... You have to be firm with new assets. Too much kindness is taken as weakness, and too much discipline makes them depressed. There has to be a fine balance. The idea of freedom makes them stupid and makes everything worse for them. A lot of times, it gets them killed. So, that's the main thing you have to destroy – the idea that they can ever be free.”

“And you've done this before?”

“Yes, although not often. When I was a domestic, I worked with a couple new assets. It was... well, it wasn't a good time for me. It made me very anxious and depressed, trying to keep these young men from getting themselves killed while forcing myself to be hard on them. But I never had one get killed, so I guess that's something.”

It's hard to even remember those times and the monster I felt like. I was so used to my group working as a team that having someone look at me like the enemy threw everything out of balance. I could hide mistakes and errors that the new assets might make, but I couldn't hide the outright disobedience or the escape attempts. Those had to be punished by me with missed meals or confinement to the storage closet, so that our owner didn't take the punishments into his own hands. Since the gentlest of his punishments was discipline with the chip, I didn't want to risk him meting out punishment to the assets in my group. I'd never want them to face the things that I went through while I was being trained.

Zero is nodding solemnly when I shake myself from my memories. He takes a step closer, brushing my bangs away from my eyes. He looks deeply and says, “How's the headache?”

I sigh and rub at my eyes, letting myself lean against his shoulder. “It's not good,” I admit. “I was hoping... Well, it doesn't matter.”

“Zeke's still looking to buy a medical asset. He thinks it's for my hip, but we can get the asset to help you too. You just have to hold on a bit longer.”

“Zero,” I chide, “It could be a while before he actually gets a scholarly asset. You know how difficult those are to find. I don't want to get your hopes up. Anything could happen before...”

“Zeke made a deal tonight,” Zero cuts me off, “to get a look at Owner Castillo's stock. That's what he was talking about with Owner Arcrest.”

“How would you know that?” I wonder. “I was right next to you the whole time and I couldn't hear.”

“I read their lips.” He pauses and then says, “You were aware that I can read lips, right?”

I huff out a small laugh and respond, “I'm not surprised.” Then to dawns on me with horrifying clarity. “Zero, did he...” I can hardly even make myself say it, I'm so appalled. “Is that why he let Owner Arcrest take you like that? Did you go through that for me?”

“It isn't so bad for me,” Zero consoles, pulling me closer. “Kip, it's not like it is for you. It doesn't upset me to have sex, with our owner or another. I don't mind, and my body is strong enough to take it.”

I don't realize I'm crying until he wipes his thumb under my eye and it comes away wet. A sob build in my throat and I muffle it against his shoulder.

“I'm just such a burden to you,” I whisper, sniffling and trying to control myself.

“No,” he says gently. “You're worth it.”

Then he leans down and kisses me gently on the lips.

It's not my first kiss with Zero. It's not even the longest or the most intense. But there's something about it this time, about the fact that we're not doing it for an audience or an order, that makes it feel different.

I pull away.

“Stop, Zero,” I tell him gently. “You don't feel that way about me.”

“Don't I?” he asks, and his voice is genuinely confused. “I love you.”

“You can care about me,” I say carefully, “without being in love with me. You don't feel the same way about me as you do Master Zeke, do you?”

“No,” he responds, “but you're not the same people. I feel differently about you because you're different. I'm still in love with you both.”

“I don't know if that's how it works...”

“Is there a rule that I can't be in love with two people? Is there a limit?”

“I... I don't know.”

“I don't understand why these things have to be so difficult,” he says, and there's an undercurrent of frustration in his voice. “I don't understand why there has to be rules with it – why an owner can't love an asset or the reverse. I don't understand why I can't love you and him both.”

Zero's still having trouble with his feelings for Zeke. I know this, and as unhealthy as it probably is for Zero's psyche, I know that he believes that he's in love with our owner. But the fact that he also thinks he's in love with me tells me that he probably hasn't discovered what real love is, or possibly that he's still trying to flesh out his feelings for Master Zeke. I have to remind myself that emotions are a relatively new thing to Zero – he's told me about the suppressants, about his cold and clinical childhood – so ideas that I take for granted might be completely foreign to him. I also remind myself that there's no sense in telling him that he's wrong – the emotions themselves are real although I don't think they truly mean what he thinks they do.

So instead of denying his feelings, I tell him, “Love is a complicated thing. I've always thought that when you find that one person you're supposed to be with, it blocks out everything else. But maybe we're strange. Maybe our circumstances are different. Maybe you're just more capable of love.”

He snorts out a laugh and says, “That doesn't seem likely.”

There's a long, pregnant pause before Zero says, “I love Zeke, but I'm not sure that I love Master Zeke. I'm not sure I can have one without the other. Sometimes I think that Zeke might love me, but to Master Zeke I'm just an asset. And I don't know if I can accept that. I don't know if I have any choice but to accept that.”

“Feelings are ever-evolving,” I try to explain. It's difficult to rally my thoughts with pain still thumping in my head, but I do my best to give Zero the answer that he needs to hear. “Just because you felt love for Master Zeke, that doesn't mean that you were in love with him. You don't have to stay in love with him, if you're feelings aren't returned. You can continue to take his orders and feel affection for him without being in love with him.” I hesitate and then say, “You don't have to be in love with me either, you know. I will still be your friend.”

“You're more than a friend. You keep me human,” he tells me. “You care about me, not for what I can do or what I am, but just because I'm a person.”

He glances at the bed, at our passed-out owner.

“Sometimes, I think you're the only one who does.”


	13. Breakfast with Owner Carmé - Kip POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I would get this chapter up for Christmas morning, and by god it's going up even though I haven't finished responding to the reviews for the last chapter. Sorry guys! Also, Merry Christmas! (Thank god it's finally over!)
> 
> My holidays are way happier thanks to my betas. I can't give them enough thanks. Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways are the absolute best! Wishing you all a Merry Christmas!

    We sleep in Master Zeke's bed, because he hasn't given us instructions to do otherwise.

    We struggle to get our unconscious owner out of his clothes and shoes for the night. He's practically dead weight, but we manage it. He wakes enough to drink some water, then turns over and goes back to sleep without a word. I leave headache pills and water by his side of the bed in case he wakes up again. I take a few of the pills myself – not that I think they'll help, but they couldn't hurt at this point. Zero and I carefully help each other remove our costumes, aware of how expensive they are, and then I slip into the bed fully nude. Zero takes the outside, as he always does, and puts me in the middle beside Master Zeke. It's okay, though. The bed is large, and I give Master Zeke extra space by curling up with Zero. Despite our earlier conversation, it isn't awkward. I know Zero cares about me. I've been secure in that knowledge for a while now. And I care enough about him to be honest with him while he struggles through these emotions.

    I fall into an uncomfortable, fitful sleep. Time crawls by moment to moment while I struggle with the ache in my head, pain never allowing me to truly find rest. In the early hours of the morning, I wake suddenly feeling violently ill. I struggle to get past Zero, who wakes in a silent panic and jerks into a crouch. It sends me tumbling to the floor and I make a quiet noise of pain, but otherwise the room is dead silent. I don't want Master Zeke to wake for several reasons, one of which is that he'll be hung over and the other is that he might ask what's wrong. I surge to my feet and stumble into the bathroom. I flick the light on and have to shut my eyes against the blinding light. I hear the boy in the tub startle awake and start thrashing, but I ignore him in favor of raising the toilet lid and kneeling in front of it. I heave, but I haven't eaten anything in hours. All that comes up is water and bile, and a few remnant pieces of the headache medicine that apparently made me so sick.

    I tilt dizzily for a moment, clinging to the porcelain bowl like a lifeline, but thankfully the moment passes without causing me to black out. I take a couple stuttered, calming breaths. Beside me, I can hear the redheaded boy making high, nasal noises and kicking at the bathtub, trying to get my attention.

    “Shhh,” I try to tell him, but I doubt he can hear me over his own thrashing. “You'll wake Master Zeke.”

    Zero, standing in the doorway, gives a growl of annoyance and moves forward. He grabs the redhead by the hair and pulls until the boy is half lifted from the porcelain tub.

    “Shut up,” Zero snarls, “or I will smash your head against the wall until you fall unconscious.”

    The boy looks at him with wide, terrified green eyes. He tries to swallow, but the gag makes it difficult. There's saliva all down his chin and neck, and I can see red, irritated patches forming where the strap for the gag has rubbed.

    “Zero, please...” I try, but I can't even finish before I have to turn back and retch again, feeling like my stomach is being shoved violently up through my throat. When I manage to turn back, I see the boy give a slight twitch in assent, and then Zero drops him back into the tub. The boy lies there in a still, shivering mess, and I wish I were able to say something to comfort him. I can't think of anything, and then I have to retch again anyway.

    Several minutes pass. Zero stands by, close but not looming, while I heave and groan miserably. I think that I probably should feel humiliated, but I'm just too tired and in too much pain. Finally, the nausea recedes a little, and I'm able to sit back and glance at Zero.

    “The aspirin,” he says, because he's been with me all evening and knows I haven't ingested anything else. “You think it's been poisoned?” I shake my head.

    “Should have known better than to take it on an empty stomach when I'm already sick,” I tell him miserably. I lean back against the wall of the bathtub, pulling my knees up to my stomach. “It's my own fault.”

    “None of this is your fault,” Zero denies. “You didn't ask to be sick.”

    “No, but...” I sigh, leaning my head on my knees. “This kind of thing would never happen to you. I'm just... just weak and useless.”

    “This kind of thing wouldn't happen to me because I'm not sick,” Zero responds. “If I were sick, this exact kind of thing would happen to me all the time. That's what being sick means.” I blink at him, unable to find fault with his logic but still pretty sure we're not saying the same things. He gives a small sigh and settles beside me. “Do you think you're ready to go back to the bedroom yet?”

    “No,” I tell him softly. “I'd rather just sit here for a moment, if you don't mind. Moving... seems like a bad idea.”

    Zero nods without complaint and lets me curl against his side. Whether because the nausea has actually passed or because my body is just too exhausted for anything else, I find myself falling into the first actual sleep of the night. My last memory is of Zero shifting closer and stroking the hair from my forehead. I hear him whisper, “I won't let anything happen to you,” before I succumb to blissful oblivion.

    When I wake, I'm still beside the bathtub, wrapped in one of the spare blankets. Zero must have heard me getting one for the redhead earlier and found them after I fell asleep. I shift and let the blanket fall away, and find that I'm sore but otherwise feeling better. Not good by any stretch of the word, but certainly better than I had last night. The nausea is totally gone and my headache has settled to a dull throb, where last night it was a searing pain. I glance up and find Master Zeke is in the room, brushing his teeth. He looks bleary-eyed and hungover, but not as sick as I was last night. He catches my movement and glances at me, then finishes before turning my way.

    “Zero said you insisted on staying with the boy all night,” Master tells me. “I appreciate the effort, but you look exhausted.”

    “I'm sorry, Master,” I apologize weakly. I don't know what else to say, with Zero's lie taking me by surprise. I should have expected him to have a contingency plan, though. He's always looking out for me.

    “It's alright,” Master responds with a shrug. “I can't imagine it will come up very often. It's just likely to be a rough day for you, with getting ready to leave and everything.”

    I smother an irrational laugh – It will be a difficult day, although not for the reasons he's thinking. I'm exhausted and sore, and my headache is still a threatening presence in my head. Should it flare again, I'm not sure I'll have the energy to deal with it. On top of that, Master Zeke will finally need to deal with his new asset this morning, which undoubtedly will be stressful for me. I always get upset when I see someone in pain, even if there's nothing I can do about it.

    As if sensing my thoughts, Zeke glances at the redhead in the bathtub. The asset has wide, fearful eyes locked on Zeke, who's standing in only his briefs and admittedly strikes an intimidating figure. It hadn't really dawned on me last night, when I came in here, that Zero and I were naked, having worn no undergarments under our outfits. Given how much time we’re naked around each other, all sense of modesty in front of Master Zeke or Zero has disappeared. I guess I was just too preoccupied last night to give it any more thought.

    “The domestics have brought our clothes from the jump ship,” Master says as I move my hands to cover my genitals, suddenly feeling very exposed. “My understanding is that today is more casual, correct?”

    “Yes,” I assure him. “Breakfast is served all day, and you're free to leave whenever you want. Owners generally eat and socialize a bit before returning to their ships.”

    I'm not used to the pleasure asset side of this event. Last night, I had planned to go back to the jump ship and get our overnight bag after the party was over. I hadn't realized how late the pleasure assets were expected to stay or how bad I would feel afterwards. Luckily, basics like toothbrushes and shampoo are stocked in the rooms. Zero must have requested one of the domestics get our bags this morning – they'd been too busy at the end of the party last night, and I hadn't thought about it prior to that. I'm not even sure where Zeke's hunting clothes ended up or the makeup items I sent with him. Maybe a domestic took it back to our jump ship? I hadn't really thought about it – somehow I had thought that I would be the domestic gathering up Zeke's dirty laundry. My mind seems to have trouble understanding that, as a pleasure asset, I no longer have the freedoms of a domestic.

    “I'll get dressed,” I offer, standing and once again unconcerned with my nudity, “and then...” I trail, glancing at the asset in the bathtub.

    Master Zeke sighs and says, “I don't suppose I can just leave him here?”

    “It...” I hesitate. “It would probably be taken as an insult, since you have enough room on your team for him. Owner Arcrest already offered that you could bring him back in a couple weeks and return him, so it would be like turning your nose up at his offer.”

    “I see,” Master says, somewhat wearily. “I suppose we should transfer his ownership now? Is everything set up for it?”

    “Yes – there's a safety bit on the night stand and his code is probably in your Key. Zero and I can move him into the other room for you.”

    “Yes, do that,” Master says casually, then exits the room. Zero appears a moment later, probably having heard us, and shoulders me out of the way when I try to help him lift the redhead. He gives me a look somewhere between amusement and annoyance that seems to say, “Do you really think I need your help?” and “Is that really a good idea?” at the same time. I let Zero take the redhead into the other room and lay him on one of the carpets.

    Zeke takes a moment to put on some underwear and a t-shirt while I throw on a pair of the sleeping pants that I packed for the trip. Zero makes no move to put on any clothes, completely unperturbed by his own nudity. Once dressed, Zeke kneels beside the asset's head and holds his face so that the boy has to look at him. Tearful green eyes glare at Zeke and the asset tries to jerk his head away, but isn't strong enough to pull himself from Zeke's grip.

    “Listen to me,” Zeke commands, his voice stern but not angry. “Settle down. Things are going to be rough for you a little while longer, and then we'll make you more comfortable. Now, I'm going to take this gag off, and you're going to tell me your name.”

    The boy goes completely still and lax. Zeke releases his hold on the boy's head and moves his hands to the side-catches on the gag. Zero moves closer, kneeling and putting his hands on the boy's shoulders. Zeke releases the gag and pulls it away slowly.

    For a moment, nothing happens.

    Then the boy says, “Please let me go. Please, I won't tell anyone. Just let me go...”

    “I need your name,” Zeke says in a firm voice.

    The boy panics and screams, thrashing in Zero's grip. I move in and let Zero see that I've got the mouth guard. Positions shift, and Zeke ends up holding the boy's shoulders while Zero forces his mouth open and I slip in the protective gag that will keep him from biting his tongue during the transfer. He thrashes for a few minutes longer after the gag is in place, then sags miserably onto the carpet. He's tried all night to get free of his bindings, so he knows that he's unlikely to get free now. He's also exhausted and likely dehydrated, so certainly at the end of his endurance.

    “I suppose I could just assign him a name,” Zeke says with a sigh. “Whatever I pick today will be set in his chip, but unfortunately he doesn't seem willing to provide it. So I suppose I'll have to choose something at random.”

    The boy on the floor makes an angry noise of dissent.

    “The assets left his paperwork here,” I offer, taking a glance at it. “His identification says his name is... Reubus.”

    Master Zeke makes a short sound of amusement and then says, “Alright. Ruby it is.”

    Then he leans in close and starts reading the random number code from his key. I can see confusion in the boy's eyes – he has no idea of what Zeke is doing. As Zeke gets close to the end of the number string, Zero places a hand on the boy's chest and pelvis to keep him from injuring himself. I snag a pillow from the bed and slide it under his head. His confused glance at me almost undoes my careful control, but I look away and keep tears from spilling from my eyes. He still doesn't understand, either, when the transfer happens and pain overwhelms him. He makes another high pitched, nasal noise of pain. His eyes roll back and his body convulses. Only Zero's restraint keeps him from slamming himself down or pitching over onto his front. It feels like eons before it ends, not the ten seconds that it actually takes.

    Then he sags suddenly against the floor. Zeke moves in and names him, then assigns him a new code. I have a hard time hearing him over the pounding of my heart, but it's not something I need to know anyway. When he's done, I slip in to remove guard from the boy's mouth. The boy-... Ruby's eyes are open but sightless. He doesn't react when I pull the gag from his mouth. Zeke and Zero go abruptly still as I put my fingers to his neck and then lean in and listen to his chest.

    “Is he...” Zeke asks, but I shake my head.

    “He's okay. Pulse and breathing are both steady.” I move my hand to close his eyes and shut his mouth. His jaw stays closed, although it's lax. There are still angry red marks on the side of his face from leaving the gag on all night. “He's just catatonic – it happens sometimes after transfer. It should wear off in a few hours.”

    “I see,” Zeke says, but he looks shaken. I try to remember that this is only the third time he's seen this process, and it was a different scenario with me. Probably with Zero as well, although I don't know that for sure. Then Master seems to shake himself. He stands and backs away, then says, “Alright. I need to make an appearance at breakfast and then we will be departing. Will he be alright on his own?”

    “Yes,” I respond easily. “I've never heard of anything happening to them after the transfer, only during. We could prop him up to make sure he doesn't choke on his own saliva, but I think the chance of that is minimal, since he seems healthy.”

    “Good. I will have the two of you accompany me to breakfast, then I will release you. You can come back here for Ruby and our things. Take them to the jump ship and then wait for me there. Understood?”

    Zero and I both nod, then quickly shift Ruby and go to get ready. We grab a quick shower, knowing that Master Zeke will want to use it as well. There’s dried semen on Zero’s thighs, and I hiss when I see that it’s chapped his skin, but he just shrugs.

    “Zero, you should have mentioned…”

    “It’s not a deal,” he interrupts. “You were sick last night, and with everything else going on it wasn’t a priority. It’s not like I haven’t faced worse.”

    “I suppose you’re right,” I tell him, but I’m still not happy with myself. If I allow my headaches to take away my ability to help Zero, what do I have left? Will I be entirely useless? Am I already? But I don’t have time to dwell on these thoughts, so I help Zero clean up and then quickly slip from the shower, making way for Master Zeke to take a longer one.

Zero and I aren’t expected to be on display today, so we both dress in dark, cotton pants and plain, white button-down tops. As we dress, I notice that Zero is still looking a bit worn. Because of me, he probably had a mostly sleepless night, as well as being uncomfortable from his sweat and semen-coated skin. I also haven't seen him eat or drink anything since we arrived, so he's likely going on eighteen hours without food. With his heightened metabolism, it's probably harder for him than it is on me, but I know I won't get him to ingest anything until we get back. His paranoia won't allow him to eat anything that could be contaminated unless absolutely necessary, and I know we're not there yet.

By the time Zero and I are ready, Master Zeke is just leaving the shower. I help him dress in more casual attire - black pants and a baby blue dress shirt that brings out his eyes. When Master is dressed, we head for the door, with Master only throwing a passing glance over his shoulder at the unconscious redhead we leave behind. I lead Master Zeke and Zero to breakfast as I'm the only one who knows the way. As I remember, it's held on the central patio. The weather – which is completely artificial – is perfect for a nice, outdoor brunch. We arrive, and Zeke is quickly waved over to a table with Owner Dillon Arcrest, Owner James Peterson, Owner Carter Powers, and a few more empty chairs.

    “Dillon, James, Carter,” Master Zeke greets as he sits down. Zero and I kneel behind his chair, as we have not been dismissed yet. “I see you're all looking better than expected this morning.”

    “Those expensive liquors,” Owner Powers says with a grin. “They knock you for a loop, but the recovery isn't nearly as difficult as it could be. My compliments to our gracious host.”

    “Well, I can't take all the credit,” Owner Arcrest says. “James here found me several of the better brews. I have to give credit to my associate.”

    “I appreciate it,” Owner Peterson returns, then looks toward Master Zeke. “Still, I'm surprised you don't have a bit of a hangover. You certainly enjoyed yourself last night.”

    “Nothing that a bit of breakfast won't cure,” Master says with an easy wave. “Speaking of which – Kip, run and get me a tray. Coffee and orange juice, along with something light. Fruit and toast, I think, with whatever toppings they have.”

    I rise and hurry to get him a tray from the buffet. There are assets set up in a serving line along the wall of the building. The smell of food makes my stomach growl, but I have neither the opportunity nor the bravery to try any. Especially with my stomach troubles last night, I need to make sure I'm safe and hidden from Master Zeke before I try any food.

    I return with a porcelain plate of melon and berry pieces, along with a small plate of buttered toast and several kinds of jams. I also get a crystal glass of orange juice and a porcelain mug of coffee. They've brought one of the oversized coffee machines out onto the lawn so that the coffee can be fresh brewed. The boy doing the pulls smiles at me – his name is Cadeon and he was one of the last assets I trained before I left. I smile back wanly, taking the cup with a nod of thanks.

    When I return, it's just Master and Owner Powers sitting at the table. Owner Arcrest and Owner Peterson have disappeared, although it isn't a rare thing for owners to come and go during the post-party brunch. I settle the tray in front of Master and then kneel behind him again. I'm sure he doesn't want to seem like he's in a hurry to send us away, although I'm a bit anxious to get back to the new asset. Master doesn't even glance at me, just picks up the coffee and breathes in the scent before taking a long sip.

    “Delicious,” Master Zeke compliments. “Tastes almost like it does at home.”

    “I would expect it to taste familiar,” says a familiar voice as a third party settles at the table. “After all, you're sleeping with the chef who invented the recipe.”

    I turn my attention and see another owner settling at the table. He has dark, salt and pepper hair and piercing hazel eyes. He's of average height and a bit more muscular than most. He's dressed in white clothes with a pressed, almost uniform style.

    “I don't think we've been properly introduced,” he says to Master Zeke. “I'm Erick Carmé. I owned Kiplan before you.”

    Beside me, I feel Zero tense, although I can't sense why. Certainly he doesn't think Owner Carmé is a threat?

    “Erick supplies most of the domestic staff that helps during Dillon's party,” Owner Powers explains.

    “Ah,” Master Zeke says as he reaches out to shake Owner Carmé's hand. “No wonder all the food tastes like a little piece of home. I'm Zeke Price, and I feel like I should thank you for all the training you put into my asset. Kip is a masterful little chef, although I try not to let him in the kitchen too often.”

    “So I've heard,” Owner Carmé says as he settles back. “Do you mind if I take a look at him?”

    “Be my guest,” Master says offhandedly, although I can sense an undertone of irritation. I can't tell if it's because he's hungover, or because he isn't pleased about this surprise, or a combination of them both. Master Zeke gestures at me and I rise from my kneel to go and stand in front of my former master.

    I can only blame deep-seated exhaustion for my lack of an emotional response. Other than a brief flutter of anxiety, I'm almost completely apathetic as I stand in front of a man who held my fate in his hands for many, many years. I'm just too tired to know how to feel.

    “Let me have a look at you,” he says. It's the same tone he uses when inspecting a new recipe or choice piece of fruit. I keep my head lowered, but turn once with my arms held at my sides. “Hm,” he says after a moment, “Not as good as he once was, but not as sickly as when he left me.” He uses his fingers to tilt up my face until I look at him. He meets my eyes and must approve of whatever he sees there, because he asks Master Zeke, “What's your secret?”

    “I can only assume that his conversion to a pleasure asset is the reason,” Master Zeke says with a shrug. “Perhaps he's better suited for a life of leisure.”

    Owner Carmé chuckles and says, “I can hardly imagine that. Kip was always diligent and industrious. I was very disappointed to lose him. He was one of my best trainers and an excellent chef in his own right. No one can manage an espresso quite the way he did.”

    I blush at the compliment. Praise from my last master was rare and hard-won. It still stirs something in me to hear it so freely given, especially since I feel so low right now.

    I glance at Master Zeke and he nods at me. I lower my head and fold my hands before saying, “Thank you, Mas- Owner Carmé.”

    I blush deeper and my heart stutters at the mistake. The person who owns me is my Master, everyone else is addressed as an owner. I know this, but I was so exhausted that I slipped. At least it's only Master and two other owners to hear my slip, not the whole group that was here initially. I don't dare raise my head to see Master Zeke's reaction, but I see Owner Carmé gesture for me to return to my seat. When I settle, Zero is still tense, if not tenser than before.

    “He's doing much better,” I hear Owner Carmé say. “Although he'll need to be at peak performance if you want to Compete him.”

    “I haven't really decided,” Master Zeke says offhandedly, gesturing with his fork before lancing a piece of honeydew. “I'm not sure I'm interested in Competing this year.”

    “Oh, I doubt that,” Owner Carmé says. It's the same tone he would use when I tried to explain that a mistake I made on a recipe was really something new that I was trying. The kind of tone that says he doesn't believe you, but he's willing to let you try to convince him. “But I do think you're smart to downplay it.”

    “I'm not sure I understand,” Master responds carefully. He glances at Owner Powers, who grins and holds up his hands.

    “I only compete pleasure assets,” Owner Powers says, “and I don't have one lined up this year. So I'd say it's safe to say that no one at this table is competing against you.”

    “I still haven't decided what I'm doing,” Master says, more genuinely. “I haven't decided if either of them are strong enough to put in the Competition.”

    “Come now, you don't have to play coy with us,” Owner Carmé challenges. “I don't think you're planning to withhold your zero from competing any more than you're likely to withhold Kip. You've got two high-level assets already in your grasp, it would be foolish to miss the opportunity to compete them. And I don't think you're a foolish man. On the contrary, I think you're playing your cards close to your chest. Even if they know you plan to fight your Zero, your opponents can't get a handle on his fighting style with you claiming that he's only a pleasure asset. Same for this one, if he's actually strong enough to cook competitively. He certainly has the talent for it.”

    “If Kip is such a strong Competition asset, why did you never Compete him?” Master Zeke challenges.

    “I don't like the politics of the Competition. Like Carter here, I'm really only interested in one type of asset. After becoming a Champion, I backed away from trying to Compete. I've no interest in splitting my time by training assets for an unnecessary second category.”

    “Oh?” Master says challengingly, “I've heard that you've no issue having sex with your domestics.”

    I feel my heart trip up. Should I not have told Master Zeke that? Have I caused this conflict? Master Zeke is certainly being more aggressive than usual – is it because of his mood? Or because Carmé was my original owner?

    Owner Carmé shrugs nonchalantly. “I use sex as a form of control with my assets. It can be a great motivator without causing the damage of a normal punishment. That being said, I don't train them to enjoy it. They are far from being cross-trained as pleasure assets, although I don't think it would be hard to do.”

    Owner Powers counters with, “Actually, I've found that assets who were punished with sex are far more difficult to retrain than those with no experience.”

    “Really?” Owner Carmé responds. “Hm. That's interesting. Still, it has no real bearing on my methods, as I don't intend for them to be competed. It's really combat and covert where I struggle. I've got no interest in having thugs around my precision instruments.”

    “I think a lot of the disposition of the asset has to do with his treatment.” Master Zeke gestures to Zero. “My zero is actually very sweet. I was surprised to find that he has a gentle enough disposition to be a pleasure asset.”

    “But a Competition level pleasure asset?” Owner Powers questions. “I mean, you've only just begun training him. Do you really think he'll be ready?”

    “It's difficult to say,” Master Zeke repeats. “As I've said, it's hard to tell if either of them will be ready to compete this year. They both came to me in fairly poor condition, and as well as they're doing they are both still recovering. It might be better for me to skip this Competition and give them extra time to heal and train.”

    “That's a wise idea,” Owner Powers puts in. “It's difficult to get settled and assemble a strong team in the first year.”

    “Gentlemen,” Owner Carmé interrupts, rising and glancing over his shoulder at an approaching asset. “It seems I am needed already. Carter, it was nice to see you again. Zeke, I enjoyed speaking with you. Although our methods differ, I have a feeling that you'll do well here. I hope to see you again sometime.”

    Owner Carmé strolls off, and I feel an unexpected amount of relief at his absence. I don't know why having him around made me feel so anxious – I'm not even his asset any more. It's not like he can punish me. Master Zeke wouldn't let him... right?

    “How did you enjoy your new asset?” Owner Powers asks. “Did you have any fun with it last night?”

    Master Zeke laughs and says, “Unfortunately, I wasn't capable of having fun with anyone by the time I got back to my room last night.” Owner Powers chuckles as well. When the laughter subsides, Zeke turns to us and says, “Speaking of my newest asset, the two of you are dismissed. Have the jump ship readied and load my newest asset. We can depart when I arrive.”

    Zero and I rise, bow, and back away, before turning and leaving the area. We are silent as we traverse the halls, as is expected of unaccompanied pleasure assets. Zero's still tense, but I know that he's always wary when we're exposed in unfamiliar places. When we get back into the room, I can't help but ask, “Do you really think Master Zeke is going to try to compete us?”

    Zero shrugs in a quick, jerky movement.

    “Maybe at some point. It's hard to tell, Master Zeke is unpredictable.”

    “That's true.”

    “We are also both still recovering,” he adds, but his voice is sterner than I'd expected. “As Master Zeke pointed out to your last owner.”

    “Yes, you're right. If I'm still... like this, then I would be of no use to him.”

    I don't really feel anything at that. I'm exhausted and my head is still fuzzy with pain. Do I want to be a Competition asset? Am I disappointed that I'm too weak? Or relieved that I won't be set up for failure? I rub my hands against my eyes, trying to focus.

    “Kip,” Zero calls, and I put my attention on him. Zero is giving me a strange expression, his stance still tense. “What was with you? Back there? With that man?”

    “With who?”

    “With your former owner,” Zero growls. “What the hell was that?”

    “I-I...” I stutter, uncertain in the face of Zero's anger. “I don't... I'm sorry, Zero. I slipped...”

    “Not that!” He snaps, then turns and storms away from me. He grabs one of our pieces of luggage and starts tossing things into it – unmindful of how the clothes might wrinkle or the cosmetics might spill. When he moves to the other side of the room, I step in carefully behind him and start rearranging things. After a few seconds, he's calmed enough to come stand in front of me again. I meet his eyes hesitantly.

    “You weren't upset about being around that guy. You weren't afraid of him. You didn't shy away from him or tense up or anything.” I'm too stunned to react, but I realize that he's right. “You were afraid of Zeke for weeks!” Zero accuses, the anger coming back into his voice. “What the hell? Do you want to go back? Is that it?”

    “No!” I shriek. “No, I- Zero, I don't...” I’m so choked up that I can’t even form my denial.

    “Shit,” Zero curses, and then his arms are around me. I flinch, but he doesn't hurt me, just pulls me in against his chest. It's only when he folds me in with a sigh that I realize I'm crying.

    “I didn't mean to yell at you,” Zero says with a sigh. “I just...” he arms tense around me. He's frustrated and exhausted, too. At least he doesn't react to it by breaking down in hysterical tears.

    “I'm sorry, I-...”

    “I thought you'd be afraid,” Zero cuts me off. “I was calculating ways I could diffuse the situation, necessary risks to get you out of situation. And then you were just... fine.”

    “Zero, please, I...”

    “Calm down,” he says evenly. “I shouldn't have yelled. I am...” he hesitates, searching for words, “feeling the strain of being here. I did not expect the constant attention to be so trying for my mental faculties. I am... I am not reacting as usual.”

    Meaning he's irritable and grumpy, just like I'm toeing the edge of mental and physical collapse. I take a calming breath, giving myself a moment just to listen to the steadying beat of Zero's heart. Then I pull away and stand facing Zero, who has schooled his features back into neutrality.

    “I need you to understand,” I start slowly, tentatively, “that as awful as Owner Carmé was, I spent a lot of years there. For a lot of that time, I was happy. I had skills that were valuable, and I was able to protect the assets in my care. I was lonely, yes, but I felt like I was doing something good with a bad situation. Master Carmé,” I say, and I don't correct myself, because he was my Master then, “was a monster, but he was a monster that I knew. He asked for the best, and when he didn't get it his punishments were...”

    I hesitate, feeling nauseous even thinking about it. I can't force my memories into words – wouldn't want to if I could – so I continue with, “With Master Zeke, I didn't know what kind of monster he was. I couldn't understand his expectations for me and I thought I was destined for failure at every turn. The one thing that kept me going with Mas- with _Owner_ Carmé was that I could use my skills to protect the newer assets from his punishments. When I got sick, I couldn't help anyone any more. I felt... I felt so useless. I felt like it was my fault, like if I had just been a little stronger, I could have pushed through and I wouldn't have been sold off.”

    “You still feel that way,” Zero says without inflection, simply as a statement of fact.

    “I... I guess I do,” I admit uncertainly, “but I don't think it's my fault any more. I just wish I were stronger, like you are.”

    “You are confusing physical well-being with mental strength. Your mind only overcomes your body to a certain extent. You can't wish away a crippling injury. You can't deny nausea into nonexistence.”

    “I know that,” I reply, a bit stung.

    “No, you don't. You _are very strong,_ ” he says with emphasis. “You could have given up. You could have stopped trying or stopped caring, but you fought on. You managed to hide your problem from Zeke and even from me for a time. You are not giving yourself enough credit. You have not been defeated, you're still fighting.”

    “I haven't won, either,” I counter.

    “There is no winning in this,” Zero replies. He gestures to his hip and says, “Some things just are, and you have to work around them. My hip will never be the same, even if I get treatment to make it better. Your body may never be as strong as it once was. You adapt and you survive. That's what makes you strong.”

    “I...” I struggle, unable to find fault with his logic. “I mean, I guess you're right.”

    “Obviously.” He gives me that little smirk he does, not really a true smile but enough to let me know he's trying to make a joke. “I'm always right.”

    I chuckle, and it feels good, like I'm not as heavy as I was before. Maybe the hysterical crying followed by a hug followed then by soul searching was exactly what I needed. Maybe I'm just finally losing my mind.

    Zero comes over to stand beside me, pressing his side against mine. When I finish laughing, he says, “I know you have a hard time believing it, but we're going to make you better.”

    I lean my head on his shoulder and say, “I'm sorry I don't have more faith, Zero. It feels like I've been walking down this path all my life, and it's always led me to this conclusion. I hope that we're able to fix me, but... you're right. I struggle to believe it.”

    “That's alright,” he assures me, wrapping his arm around my waist. “I'll believe it enough for both of us.”


	14. Impromptu Rescue - Kip POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR! 
> 
> Okay, it's 10:30, close enough. :) Here's to a week's worth of made and broken new year's resolutions, all of them mine. Lol!
> 
> Here's wishing a great 2017 to all of my awesome betas: Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways. You guys are the best - I hope you have the best year coming up.

Zero carries Ruby down to the jump ship. The new asset is still firmly unconscious, and will probably stay that way until we get back to the ship, if not longer. First transfers can be very hard on the nervous system, or so it seems. It's not uncommon for an asset to be out for a whole day after a transfer, and there are rare instances of an asset dying.

Zero settles him into the seat and I check his pulse once more just to be careful, then buckle him in. I tousle his red hair a bit, wishing I could comfort him like this when he's awake, but I know he's not ready for that yet. It will be a while before he settles in, and until then he's more likely to strike out at me than accept my consolation.

When Ruby is settled, I move to one of the ship's storage containers and fish out a bottle of water and a protein bar. I force them into Zero's hands, even though he gives me a grumpy little glare. It lacks heat, though, and I know that he's feeling drained from hunger. He eyes the provisions warily for a moment, then eats them. It seems like even his paranoia has reasonable limits. He perches himself in one of the extra seats near the back entrance and eats slowly, taking sips of water in between bites. I settle into one of the seats along the side and just relax for a moment, listening to the bustle outside and ready to head for home.

Outside our craft, there are a lot of assets loading and unloading or just milling around, waiting to depart. I can hear them talking and laughing, or jostling things around as they load the ships. I relax back in the seat and lean my head against the curved side of the seat. It feels almost serene now, despite the lingering fog of pain in my head. We're almost ready to go home. All the emotional pain and fear that this trip has brought me, all the physical pain and lethargy that I'm feeling right now, I push all that down and just let myself rest for a moment.

It doesn't last. I'm just starting to feel drowsy when I hear Dodger's voice, loud and upset. I'm on my feet and heading for the door before I really make a conscious decision. Zero is between me and the door, and he manages to pin me with a single raised eyebrow.

“Where do you think you're going?” he questions, his tone deceptively casual.

“I...” I hear Dodger's voice come again, high and angry. “I want to help...”

“His problems are none of our concern,” Zero responds logically.

“I know that, but...” I hesitate again. “He took a hit for me at the dance last night. He got me out of trouble,” I don't mention that he also got me into trouble, “so I owe him.”

Zero gives me a baleful look. He finishes drinking his water, puts the cap on with a long-suffering sigh, and then gets to his feet.

“Stay behind me, and don't do anything that would reflect badly on Master Zeke. We are going out  _ only _ to assess the situation. I will decide if we need to take steps to intervene.”

Zero turns, but instead of going through the open door, he types a command on the wall keypad and opens the rear cargo hatch. As if sensing my questioning glance, he says, “It's predictable. Someone could be waiting to jump us.”

“You think it's a trap?” I ask. He gives me a look that questions my intelligence.

“It's always a trap,” he growls. “The better question is who are they trying to catch.”

Then he leads me out, walking easily down the sloped metal ramp now leading into the main area of the hanger. We find Dodger almost immediately – if the group of half a dozen combat assets surrounding him hadn't tipped us off, then his raised voice certainly would have made it easy.

They're gathered pretty much in the center of the hanger. As the hanger is a circle, that puts them almost directly in front of our side exit – if we'd come out the usual door, it would have put us within the midst of them. Their backs are to us as they're facing Dodger, who is facing our ship but doesn't see us depart. Zero leads me under our craft – its docking legs giving us just enough room to walk if we lean over – and around the group until we're behind Dodger, with the rest of the group closing in on him. His feet are braced wide apart, his hands on his hips, and he's leaning toward them angrily. His hair is up in a messy ponytail, his clothes are soft, black cotton pants and a t-shirt that's just a bit too large for him. Like the rest of us, he's dressed more casually and without any makeup.

One of the combat assets leans in and says, “Come on, sugar. Just give us a taste.”

“I told you already,” Dodger snarls back, “I don't offer for free, and you can't fucking afford me.”

“Don't give me that shit,” the combat asset growls back, taking a threatening step forward. He's large and muscular, at least twice Dodger's size, and with the same cropped hair as the rest. “You slut slaves love this kinda thing. You can't get enough of it. Nobody's watching, so why don't you just let yourself enjoy it?”

“I said fuck off!” Dodger yells. He raises his voice, but I doubt he's actually trying to get more attention. It's not likely that any of the owners will come down here – they prefer to mate the side door to one of the upper hatches and enter the ships without ever setting foot in the cargo bay. And the other people who are supposed to be keeping order down here are the ones currently harassing him.

Another asset moves forward, this one leaner than the first but tall, so that he nearly towers over Dodger. “I think we made a mistake,” he says, his voice a low hiss that I'm barely close enough to hear. “I don't think you're supposed ask. I think you're supposed to take.”

The slim asset's hand darts out and gets Dodger by the wrist. Dodger pulls away, but the taller asset has leverage. The heavier asset makes a grab for Dodger as well, but he darts out of the way, struggling to pull himself from the tall asset's grip.

“Zero!” I hiss. “We have to do something!”

“I'm aware,” Zero responds, and his tone is more annoyed than alarmed. “You stay here, you'll only get in the way.”

I want to growl something about him needing all the help he can get, but I hold myself back. He's probably right, the best I could do is throw myself at one of them and hope I do some damage before they knock me unconscious.

I wring my hands as Zero approaches the group from behind Dodger. He's directly in front of the combat assets, but all their attention is focused on Dodger. For a moment, I feel a gut-wrenching fear that I might have pulled Zero into more than he can handle. There are at least six combat assets, and Zero is probably lighter than the smallest asset in the opposing group. What if I convinced him to get into a fight that he can't win?

Zero doesn't try to be sneaky about his approach, but neither does he act aggressive. I notice that he doesn't glance at the group – actually, it looks like he's casually walking by, if unnecessarily close. At the last moment, Zero turns and breaks the combat asset's hold on Dodger's wrist. He transfers the wrist into his own grip, and then uses his hold on Dodger's arm to pull the pleasure asset over his shoulder. It's done in such a quick, fluid motion that no one even moves as the positions shift. Even Dodger lets himself be put over Zero's shoulder without more than a squawk of surprised protest. By the time the combat assets have figured out what just happened, Zero is walking at a sedate pace back toward our ship.

“Hey!” one of the combat assets yells – the burly one. “We weren't done with that!”

Zero stops – and I pretty much have a heart attack! What is he doing? He has Dodger, he should be running for the safety of the ship!

Instead, Zero calmly turns back to the angry crowd and says, “I didn't ask if you were.”

That seems to take shake the tall asset from his stupor, because he takes a step forward and eyes Zero hostilely.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” the tall asset asks.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Zero says, his tone flat. On his shoulder, Dodger squirms and makes an angry noise, so Zero slaps him on the meaty part of his ass. The slap echoes in the now-quiet hanger, and Zero growls, “Knock it off.” Dodger's head comes up in anger and he finally, finally notices me hiding under our ship, and I gesture emphatically for him be quiet and let Zero handle it. With a shocked expression, Dodger once again goes limp on Zero's shoulder.

“No,” snarls the taller combat asset, “It's not fucking obvious! We had that first!”

“Yes,” Zero says slowly, enunciating his words. “And now I have him. That's the rule, isn't it? Don't ask, just take what you want.”

The tall asset grinds his teeth, glaring at Zero. Then, abruptly, he relaxes and smiles.

“Listen, buddy,” he says. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. We weren't expecting for you to come in so aggressive. But, hey, we can share, right?”

Zero's expression remains blank, as flat and cold as stone.

“I don't share,” he says without inflection. “When I have something, it belongs to me. However, feel free to come try and take him. I'd be happy to give you all a lesson in manners.”

The combat assets tense, and for a moment there's a stand-off. The combat assets were looking for easy prey and now, faced with another predator, they hesitate. It certainly seems like the group of them could take Zero – there are more of them and they're all larger than he is – but something about his attitude must give them pause. That, or they're aware of the zeros' reputation for merciless killing – it was a popular story when I was younger, but it has faded with the lack of zeros there to uphold it. Either way, the combat assets eye Zero warily for several seconds, taking in his relaxed pose and nonchalant expression. Certainly seeing the way he easily holds Dodger on his shoulder, even though Dodger is taller and likely heavier than Zero. Or maybe there's just something in Zero's eyes that warns them not to mess with him.

Finally, the tall asset snarls, “Nobody wants used goods anyway,” spits on the floor, and storms off. The rest of the group follows slowly. Apparently none of them are interested enough in Dodger to risk getting into a fight by themselves. Zero waits until they've made it to the other side of the room before turning his back to them, gesturing for me to follow, and carrying Dodger over to our open hatch. Once there, he sets Dodger on the upper part of the ramp – not actually inside the ship, but hidden by the shadow of the top gate.

“You,” Zero says, giving Dodger a cold look, “are constantly getting into trouble.”

“And always lucky enough to get out!” Dodger responds with an ear-to-ear grin. “You really saved my ass! Literally! Get it?”

Zero gives him a puzzled look, then makes a sound of annoyance and turns away. He heads back down the ramp and calls over his shoulder, “I need to keep watch and make sure those assets don't regroup and try something underhanded. He can stay here until we're ready to depart, then he has to go.”

“Hey!” Dodger calls to Zero's disappearing back. “Don't be cold like that! You smacked my ass, you know that makes us friends now!”

I honestly think I hear Zero snort in amusement, but he's too far away for me to really tell. I settle down beside Dodger. When he glances at me, surprised and a bit wary, I'm taken aback by how tired he looks. Without his makeup, he seems pale and worn. There are bags under his eyes so dark that they resemble bruises and actual bruises on his wrists and arms. There are probably more hiding under his clothes, and the scabbed cut on his lip makes me feel a pang of unwarranted guilt.

“Hey, I...” he says awkwardly. “I thought you might be mad at me. I certainly didn't expect you to send your guard dog out to rescue me.”

“He's not my guard dog,” I correct, “but I did ask him to go help you.”

“I'm surprised he agreed.”

“Well,” I hedge, “I might have told him you helped me out last night.”

Dodger gives a short laugh and says, “Bet you didn't tell him I got you into that mess last night.”

I carefully fold my hands over my knees and say, “You would win that bet.”

Dodger laughs again and it makes me smile. He sobers quickly, though, like he's just too tired for that much mirth.

“I wanted to tell you,” he says softly, “that I'm sorry about last night. About the kiss. I was... Uh, I don't know if you noticed, but I was a little drunk.”

“A little?” I ask with a chuckle. “Huh. I didn't even notice.”

“Liar,” he teases, shoving his shoulder into mine. “You had to taste it, if nothing else. Anyway, just wanted to say I was sorry... you know, for the way it turned out.”

There's a quiet pause while I get up the nerve to ask, “Why did you kiss me?”

He shrugs.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time?” he asks with a grin. Then it slips and he says, “I don't know. I saw a friendly face and I reached out. I guess after all this time as a slut slave, I don't really know how to say hi without sticking my tongue down someone's throat.” There's a note of self-disgust in his voice and he pulls his knees up to his chest. He looks so weary like that, so worn out and exhausted. I reach out and lay a hand on his wrist. It somehow seems thinner today than it did yesterday, like all the life's been drained out of him.

“I didn't... Um, I mean, I didn't mind. I just wanted to make sure... you know.”

“Were you worried that I'm secretly crushing on you?” he teases, the grin is back in place but the tiredness still shows in his eyes. “Nah, you're not my type.”

I gasp in mock offense, trying to bolster his spirits. “And here I thought you liked blonde clones with a penchant for getting in trouble.”

He grins a little more sincerely and says, “Oh, I definitely like trouble,” with a wicked glint in his eye. But he can't hold that kind of energy. He sighs and closes his eyes a moment later.

“Anyway, just wanted to tell you that I won't pull that kind of stunt again, if you decide to keep talking to me, which obviously you have since we're talking right now. It was stupid and dangerous, and I only did it because I was really, really drunk.”

“You saved me in the end,” I assure him. “Besides, you were very drunk. Maybe too drunk?” I ask gently.

“Nah,” he says. “I can hold my liquor.” He goes quiet for a second, then says more softly, “Besides, it helps. It... Uh, it deadens me a little. Makes it easier to... well, you saw how many guys wanted a piece of me last night.” He tries another grin as he says, “It ain't easy being this popular.”

It hadn't seemed like he was in pain last night. I have a hard time believing how naive I am, that I could look at him surrounded by owners like that and think he was actually having a good time. Taking that many men, of course there was pain. Even for someone as experienced as Dodger, that kind of wear on the body is always hard. And the kiss... What I construed as playful banter was probably the drunken act of a desperate man, reaching out for comfort from any source.

My eyes brim with tears and I take a quick breath, trying not to let them spill.

“Hey,” Dodger says, coming awake and alarmed. “Hey, what's the matter? Are you okay?”

I chuckle on a sob, and close my eyes, unable to look at him.

“I'm just really sorry I couldn't convince Master Zeke to take you with us.”

Dodger's face clouds with confusion, his head tilts to the side.

“That's not it,” he says softly, without malice.

“W-what?”

“Come on, blondie,” he says softly, sliding closer until our sides press together. He pulls his legs up, rests his head on his knees, and meets my eyes with an open expression. “You've been around here long enough. You know how it goes with assets. You've probably seen more than your share passed up or passed on. This isn't about me getting left behind. So what's the matter? What's really eating you?”

I take a breath to try and calm myself. It seems like all I've been doing lately is breaking down in hysterical fits of crying.

“I'm sorry, it's just been a really rough day.”

“You look like shit,” he responds. “Something happen? You, uh... You get in over your head last night?” He's talking about sex, of course. He's asking if Master hurt me during the orgy last night. I'm too ashamed to admit that I didn't even have sex last night, that Zero took all of the attention once again. Instead, I shake my head.

“Nothing like that,” I tell him, hoping he won't press for more. He waits patiently, leaving it open for me to reveal or conceal as much as I want. Finally, I find myself admitting, “I got sick last night.”

“Oh?” Dodger says, and the grin is back on his face. “Maybe I wasn't the only one having too much to drink last night?” He elbows me in the ribs and I laugh, but the humor quickly fades.

“It's not that.” I hesitate then. How much should I reveal to Dodger? It's not like I know him that well. On the other hand, I'll probably never see him again. “I -uh, I have a defect. Migraines. I was up all night... hiding in the bathroom.”

“Oh sweetie,” he says softly. “Did the big guy find out?”

I shake my head.

“It was a near thing, though. Zero helped cover for me. It's just... It's getting harder to hide.”

He puts an arm around my shoulders, friendly without being intrusive. We share a moment of feeling miserable together. I've been where he is, feeling unwanted and broken. Constantly wondering if you have one foot in the grave. Asking yourself if you could have done something different - been somehow stronger or funnier or prettier – to avoid this situation. Wondering if it's your own fault, knowing that it's not, and feeling that way anyway. His other hand in on his lap and I cover it with my own, feeling the skin beneath my fingers that seems just a bit colder and more frail than last night. We share a moment of understanding, of being commiserate in our misery. It's bittersweet, but it's all we have.

It seems like precious few minutes before an alarm starts chirping loudly, startling us both into motion. I pull away from Dodger just as Zero starts coming up the ramp. By the time Zero is in the ship, Dodger and I are both standing, him casual with his hands in his pockets and me with my arms folded across my chest.

“Master Zeke just signaled for the side hatch to mate,” Zero warns us. “Kip, you need to take your seat and get ready to depart.”

As if on cue, we hear an angry voice from outside the ship yelling, “Incubus! Let's go!”

Dodger gives a fake grin and says, “Well gentlemen, that's my cue.” He takes a bow. “May our journeys bring us to the same destination again.” Then he turns to leave and softly punches me in the shoulder as he passes. “Keep safe, okay? And don't give up.” He walks down the exit ramp, his step light but I notice a slight limp as he walks. As he goes, I try not to let myself wonder if I’ll ever see him again. 

Just before he gets to the bottom, he turns around and grins broadly, pointing at Zero with both hands. “And you! I know you won't forget about me! You don't smack this ass and forget about it! We're friends now! You stay out of trouble, alright? I don't want to have to rescue you again, you hear me?” he yells obnoxiously at Zero, before hitting the bottom of the ramp and running from the ship, leaving only a loud laugh behind. Zero shoots a glare at the exit and for a moment I think he might go after the long-haired asset, but then he just snorts and shakes his head ruefully. Then he closes up the rear exit and cues the side hatch to dock for Master Zeke.

And just like that, we're headed home.


	15. A Moment of Reflection - Zero POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, almost no intro today, because I totally forgot. 
> 
> Still busy, but things have settled a bit after Christmas. We got two cats at Christmas - an older one about three weeks ago and a four-month kitten this week. As anticipated, they hate each other. My husband, love him as I may, does not understand the basic psychology of a cat.
> 
> As always, betas are the absolute best. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. I couldn't do it without them!

We reach our ship by mid-afternoon and Zeke disappears into his study again. I know from snippets of previous conversation and half-glimpsed documents on his tablet that he's trying to gain more influence with his company and increase their revenue. I think he's actually hiding from us, distancing himself, and avoiding his new responsibility. What I don't know is why.

Kip has me put Ruby in one of the spare rooms in the servant's quarters on the bottom deck. Ruby isn't unconscious, but he is exhausted and lethargic enough that I only tie his hands when I put him in the bed. I also enable the electronic lock on the door so that he can't escape and wander the halls. Once I return to the kitchen with Kip, I pull up the video feed from that room on one of the wall panels. Being able to keep one eye on our new... guest, I feel a little less tense about his presence.

Although Kip usually uses the full kitchen on the top floor, tonight we both gravitate toward the smaller kitchen on the bottom floor. Some of it might be proximity to where Ruby is being held, but with the monitoring software I could easily keep an eye on him from anywhere in the ship. I feel like Kip and I both want to be somewhere familiar right now. I have a lot of positive memories of this place, and the association is comforting. I need that comfort right now. All these sudden changes and the shift that's taking place with Master Zeke's demeanor are causing me to feel restless and anxious. I'm tempted to go to the gym and work off some of the nervous energy, but I can't bring myself to leave Kip's side.

Once I'm sure that Zeke is firmly secluded in his office, I get Kip a pain-patch from the med bay and help him apply it to his shoulder. He sits quietly at the kitchen table for the better part of half an hour, sipping weak tea. When he finally gets up, his color has returned and the stress-lines on his forehead have eased. He smiles at me and it's a bit vapid, but it's certainly better than the pained expression of the previous two days.

Kip starts dinner, for all appearances fully recovered if a bit exhausted. I have to wonder if the headache had mostly finished already, for the symptoms to abate so quickly. Or was this a mild one? Has Kip's endurance lowered as he relies more heavily on the pain-patches to manage his symptoms? How long will Kip be able to keep up appearances once our dwindling supply of pain-patches runs out? Certainly Master Zeke has noticed that Kip's losing weight again. That he's been going to bed earlier and getting up tired anyway. That he's no longer quick with a smile and slow to frustrate, and that on bad days the reverse is true. Prior to this weekend, I was confident that Zeke wouldn't hold this illness against Kip, convinced that Kip was being overly cautious about the need to keep it secret. Now…  

Now I'm questioning everything. Seeing Zeke fit so easily into the role of an owner, I'm questioning his motives and my own judgment. And still I don't know his purpose here. What if he truly enjoys this? What if he selects broken assets and fixes them because of the rush it gives him? What if he disregards the assets once he's finished fixing them? What if he doesn't? What if he fixes broken assets only to Compete them, to show how far he's brought them? What if Kip can't be fixed?

What will I do if Master Zeke tries to discard him?

I shake myself. I can't allow myself to dwell on possibilities. So far, Master Zeke has proven himself to be kind and fair. He hasn't shown any inclination to sell myself or Kip, even when I know there has been interest in me. He's shown minimal interest in Competing – but that's to be expected. He's a new owner exploring all the facets of his new identity.

But what if he likes it? What if the Zeke that I first met is fully replaced by Master Zeke? What then?

It takes another half an hour for the pain-patch to finish. I could pull it off early, but Kip has been so sick the last two days that I let him have the full dose, hoping it can stave off needing another dose for a few days. Our supply is short – only two patches left, which I can stretch into four doses if needed, but Kip has been needing about that much in a week lately. If I can't get more, or get Kip fixed in time...

When the patch is finished, I pull it from Kip's shoulder and slip it into my pocket. He's been letting me take care of how much and how often he wears a patch, along with disposal of the evidence. In some ways, I think he doesn't trust himself. It must be tempting to use the patch more heavily to the point of feeling good, instead of using just enough to get by without being evidently sick, as we have been. I think he worries that without my judgment and restraint, he might use them to the point of exposure and discovery.

Prior to now, that thought didn't send cold chills through me. At this point, I'm relieved that he's been so cautious, even if it's evidence that he's still distrustful of Master Zeke. Maybe his judgment is better than mine. Maybe I've been fooling myself into believing that Zeke could be an owner and still be humane.

I step out of the kitchen and into one of the unoccupied bedrooms on this floor. In the bathroom, I take the patch out of my pocket and rinse it under a warm tap. After a few minutes, I remove it from the water and pat it dry. Then I hold it against my left side until it manages to stick, despite most of the adhesive being gone. Once it bonds, I put my shirt back down. In these uncertain situations, I need to remember my training. Contingency plans. Always have contingency plans, and then contingencies for those plans. Always guarantee your own success.

Kip finishes dinner, and it's a simple affair. Grilled cheese and soup, but the cheese in the sandwich is a motley of different whites and yellows, the bread thick and made from scratch. The soup is tomato, but creamy and with a sprinkling of green herbs floating in it. With Kip, even simple has to have flair and presentation. It's a far cry from the military rations I was used to when I first came to Zeke.

The new asset – Ruby – is awake, although quiet and sullen. The transfer must have sapped a lot of his energy, because he spends a long time blinking at the ceiling before pushing himself into a sitting position. I watch him through a screen on the kitchen wall – most of the rooms have an access panel that will let me monitor the ship's systems, including navigation and security. When it's clear that the boy doesn't have enough energy to be a nuisance, I let Kip know that he's alert. Kip takes a sandwich to his room – I've already vetoed letting him come into the kitchen with us. Too many sharp utensils that he could get a hold of. I've got a lot on my mind today, I'm not sure I can manage my temper enough for babysitting.

I do try to follow Kip when he takes the tray, but he waves me off.

“Ruby's exhausted. He's not going to try to attack me until after he's eaten.”

“You don't know that,” I argue. “He could be faking.”

Kip rolls his eyes and... maybe he has a point. Transfers are exhausting. Even if he is faking the extend of it, the boy is definitely worn out. So I watch on the monitor as Kip takes the food into the room and leaves it on the table nearest to the door. With an unexpected level of caution from Kip, he doesn't approach the boy or answer any of the boy's anxious questions. He just leaves the food on the side table and assures the boy that it isn't drugged. I notice, too, that the dishes and utensils are all plastic. It seems Kip is being more serious about this than I had expected. After Kip leaves and I cue the door to lock behind him, Ruby gets to his feet and walks unsteadily to the door. His hands are still bound together, but they're tied in front and loose enough to give him the mobility to feed himself, or in this case to attempt to open the door. He tries the handle but finds it locked, then leans his forehead against the door for several minutes. When he turns and settles in front of his food, there's a fresh stain of tears on his face.

Kip returns to the kitchen looking sad, but quickly banishes the expression when he sees me. He sends a message to Zeke over the ship's communication system, but Zeke doesn't respond. Kip waits long enough to be sure that Zeke will not be coming down before taking a tray up to him. It makes me irrationally angry that Zeke is avoiding us, after everything that happened in the last few days. It would be beneficial to get his input into the situation, to dissect our performance and gain his reaction. But I suppose that's too much to ask from our Owner, who as usual takes so much and returns so little trust. Kip returns and we eat our meal in silence while he struggles with his own exhaustion and I try to extinguish my simmering temper.

Kip and I eat in familiar, companionable silence. There isn't much left to say between us, and Kip looks exhausted anyway. I'll have to insist that he takes a nap after dinner – chances are that he'll sleep all night, and it would be a good idea to have him out of the way for a few hours. I need to be careful with Kip. The recent changes combined with his physical frailty and his emotional reaction to the party means that he's under a lot of stress. I'm not sure how well his body can deal with any additional issues right now.

My thoughts wander back to the party, to noticing Kip's horrified expression when Owner Arcrest took my mouth. I wished then that I could pause and explain to him that I wasn't in any pain, physically or emotionally. That I understood Kip's reaction to sex, but that I don't share the same fears and anxieties.

I've tried to tell Kip that it's not the same for me, that sex doesn't bother me like it does him, but he doesn't believe me. He can't comprehend my unconcerned attitude toward sex. But it is the truth. Instead of being upset by the prospect of pleasuring another owner, I was... I was excited by the challenge. By the idea of showing off my skills in front of Master Zeke and the possibility of raising Master Zeke's value. I enjoy being useful. I like being something that Master Zeke can show off. And sex isn't something that scares or repels me. Even if it's sex with a stranger, I feel confident that I've been trained well enough to handle the situation and that Master Zeke won't push me beyond my limits.

But I also feel sick about the whole experience. About the power that Zeke wields in such a haphazard manner. What if it had been Kip attracting all the attention? Can I confidently say that Zeke wouldn't have offered Kip in my place? That kind of use, that kind of offhanded sexual encounter, would have destroyed Kip's progress. It would have shattered the confidence Kip has gained in his own sexuality and put him back to the skittish creature he was when he first arrived. He would have started seeing sex as a punishment again – something that I now know was ingrained in him from his treatment with Owner Carmé. It was so difficult to overcome Kip's fear of sex that I don't know if it will be possible a second time. Worse still, I don't know if it's avoidable if Master Zeke continues to insist on keeping Kip in pleasure.

Kip is obviously and evidently not equipped to be a pleasure asset. We've tried. Experiment failed. Time to adjust and recalculate. Why can't Master Zeke see that?

I spend most of the meal sitting in silence, trying not to stare at Kip while casting glances in his direction. Still pale, with tired circles around his eyes. He picks at his food, never very hungry when he's on pain meds. He's not thin enough to be called skeletal but he's certainly moved from petite to frail. His wrists look so small that I could hold both of them in one hand. His shoulders are corded muscle and bone wrapped in pale, porcelain skin. If he weren't pushing himself so hard to meet Master's needs, I think he would just waste away. Any small push, any unnecessary pressure, could prove to be too much for Kip in this state.

Something has to change... or he's going to break.

After dinner, I wash the dishes. Kip sits with me, obviously itching to do the cleanup himself but too exhausted to even offer. Usually I can rely on Kip to carry a conversation in situations like these, but today I can tell that he's too tired and depressed. Even though he only knew him for a short amount of time, Kip gets attached to people easily and I can tell that leaving Dodger behind bothered him. Unfortunately, I can't think of anything to say that would make him feel better. Along with Master Zeke's off-handed treatment of the untamed asset, I still can't understand Master Zeke's abrupt reaction to Dodger. The fact that Zeke passed on him outright despite our recommendation isn't completely unexpected, but it certainly doesn't make me feel confident about my influence over my owner. If I had any idea why he passed on the pleasure asset... But Master Zeke refuses to take me into his confidence and share any of his intentions with me.

The thought of it still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I have to remind myself that keeping Kip safe is my priority. A half-formed plan in my head starts to solidify. I calculate risks and probabilities, define my goals and variables. Zeke is becoming an unstable quantity in my equation. The end result I'm aiming for is Kip's safety, but given Zeke's constantly changing demeanor it's difficult to estimate the best course of action. I'll have to make a loose plan and adjust during our interaction. I have to make Master Zeke see that his treatment of Kip isn't working, without letting him see how fragile Kip has become.

“I'm sorry I'm not more help tonight,” Kip says, and even his voice sounds tired. “And that I'm such a burden to you. I can feel you worrying from here.”

“Everything's going to be okay,” I assure him, although for the first time I know that I sound more confident than I feel. “You'll see.”

“I know,” he responds, and it's so soft that I wouldn't have heard it if I hadn't been listening for a reply. Then he seems to rouse himself, and says in a louder tone, “I was thinking I should shower and maybe lay down.”

“Yes,” I reply smoothly, trying not to come across as too eager. “I think that's a good idea.”

Kip rises with a soft noise and comes to stand beside me. I glance at him, and he lays a hand over the back of mine, still wet from the dish water. I meet his eyes, but his gaze is lazy and still a bit inebriated. I let him lean his shoulder against me and put his head on my shoulder. His eyes flutter closed tiredly.

“Thank you,” he says gently. I grunt in reply, wondering how much of this he'll even remember later. Then he moves off, his steps weaving just the slightest bit, and disappears out the door. I check the ship's security systems to make sure he actually gets to one of the bedrooms on this floor without getting lost or sidetracked. Then I quickly finish up the dishes and put them into their magnetically sealed cabinets.

I take a moment to check on the new asset. When I glance at the screen again, the room is a mess. The bed and mattress are flipped over, the drawer of the end table is sideways on the floor, the end table itself is smashed. He seems to be trying to work the bindings off of his hands with one of the smashed slivers of wood from the end table. His face is blotchy with color and his chest is heaving from exertion. I snort in amusement. There's no way the soft wooden sliver will manage to work through the thick, plastic zip tie that I've bound his wrists with. He would have been wiser to go after the spring coils in the mattress, although even that would have taken a long time and still wouldn't get him free of the room. But I have to respect his tenacity. That he's not cowering under the covers says a lot about his resolve.

Reassured that the new asset isn't any closer to escape and Kip is out of the way, I feel safe clearing the ship's security feed from my tablet and leaving the kitchen. Without giving myself time to think about it, I walk to the upper floor where Master Zeke is sequestered in his office. All of my ideas center on interacting with Master Zeke. This is a crucial step in my plan to keep Kip safe.

The only step in my plan, if I'm honest. I don't really have any alternatives.

I hesitate at the door, my hand posed to knock. I think about other things I could do. I think about going to the gym and running until I'm out of breath. I think about knocking the shadow dummy around for a while. I think about re-running our navigational sequence until the numbers make my eyes squint. I think about finding Kip and dragging him into a bath with me. I think about having sex with Kip, with him sleepy and pliant under me, his usual nervousness gone under pull of his drugs. I think about letting Kip curl up on me and fall asleep while I pretend to check the ship's monitoring software on my tablet.

I think about Kip's shimmering yellow hair and his quick smile, his silver eyes bright and mirthful. I think about him with his feet planted wide apart, his hands on his hips, scolding and teasing at the same time. I think about him in the kitchen, humming to himself because he thinks no one is watching. I think about him washing my back, his hands gentle and firm at the same time, his gestures sure and confident but also delicate and pleasant.

I think about Kip's expression as he watched me being taken at the party – the mix of horror and fear on his face. The helpless, righteous anger at my treatment. The way he couldn't understand that I didn't mind, that it didn't bother me the same way it bothers him.

I think about him dry heaving over a toilet, trying to keep quiet in his misery. I remember the silent tears streaming down his face, and the way he clung to the porcelain for balance. I know how hard he struggled, could feel it in the way he shook and clenched his jaw and his fists.

I think about his pale face, asleep, still pinched with unknown pain.

I think about losing him.

Then I pull my hand back from knocking and open the door.


	16. Ragged Edges and Regrets - Zeke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I've gotten a couple questions lately about how long this section is going to be, so here's the answer: I don't know. Lol? I have two chapters written and lined up, so the next two weeks are safe. (I will make deadline! Woohoo!) After that, I'm thinking four or five more chapters until the end of the section. So we're looking at 20+, probably somewhere near 22, but it could run up to 25. (I always give an estimate and then end up tripling it before I actually finish, so hopefully this one is pretty accurate.) So if you're planning out your reading schedule, pencil me in for at least another month before hiatus. :)
> 
> Also, I'm going to note that this is a bit of a rough chapter. I wish I had enough written that I could post this one together with the next one, but I would have to skip next week. So please be aware that I know this chapter is... rough. Everybody is on edge, and maybe Zero has not picked the best timing for his heart to heart. Please reserve judgement until after the next chapter, because they really are part of a bigger whole. Thanks for giving it a chance!
> 
> As always, betas are the absolute best. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. I couldn't do it without them!

The first thing I do when we return to the ship is lock myself in my office and ping Mari for a chat. Zero and Kip are in the kitchen making lunch, and although I know that I should be with them, should be reconnecting with them and helping them recover, I can’t bring myself to face them. Everything seems to be spinning out of control and I just… I need to get myself together before I can face them again. 

     So despite how dangerous it is, I get Mari on a direct line. I just have too much valuable information to send in a coded message or keep to myself, and I need to unload before I get overwhelmed. Our communications are scrambled, but even that could seem suspicious to anyone monitoring me. Also, the more times I use the transmission, the more chances I give them to decode my system. I try to keep the length of our discussion to a minimum, giving Mari my information as quickly and concisely as possible. Still, when we're finished, I can't bring myself to disconnect from her. She's the only person I can talk to who understands my situation, who knows that I'm not truly a monster. Right now, with my mask so close to the surface that I'm starting to wonder which personality is the real one, I could really use her perspective.

“What is it?” Mari says after a couple moments of quiet. She's in a navy blue business suit, her hair pulled back into a stylish, low slung bun. Wherever she is, it must be early. There's a cup of coffee by her right hand and a pastry with a single bite taken from it by her left. I feel vaguely guilty that I must have interrupted her breakfast.

“Nothing,” I hedge, not sure we have time for a heart to heart. “I'm just hungover.”

“Well, you do look like something the cat dragged in,” she teases. I resist the urge to rub at my temples – it hasn't helped the dull ache in my head any of the other times I did it. “Come on, we haven't got time for you to be indecisive. What happened?”

“Kip and Zero are mad at me for passing on an asset,” I blurt, although it's a seriously simplified version of the situation. “Apparently Kip made a friend while we were there and I didn't take him with us. They haven't said anything, but I can feel that they're both upset with me.”

Upset with me for a myriad of reasons, actually, but that’s the most recent and the only one I could have rectified. I know that Zero is still upset with me because he knows I’m keeping something from him and Kip is distrustful for a similar reason, but I still think it’s too big of a risk to change that decision. I can’t hinge the entire mission on whether or not they can act normal after knowing that I’m an undercover agent. 

“They're not going to agree with every decision you make,” Mari says logically. “It's important to establish that you make the calls.”

“I know that. It's just... I'm not sure I made the right one.”

“Oh?” she asks. “Why's that?”

“I let my... history affect my judgment. I got emotional and it affected my decision.”

“Well, now I'm curious,” she teases gently. “What got you so riled up?”

“He was...” I trail, feeling my mouth go dry. “He was from Satellite 12. I don't know how he survived the collapse, but... he definitely had the red eyes.”

“That seems a bit suspicious,” she says carefully. I sigh and rub at my face.

“Maybe,” I tell her breathlessly. “Maybe not. It could be why they grabbed him – the rarity factor. Or it could be a very good fake. I doubt the latter, though. I haven't seen a lot of faking going on with the assets. Either way, I couldn't handle it.”

“Couldn't handle...?”

“His eyes,” I clarify, a bit surprised that she would need me to explain. “The constant reminder of my guilt.”

“Is that the only reason you passed on him?” she asks. “Was he a good opportunity?”

“I don't know,” I reply honestly. There are other reasons that I passed on Dodger, but with my strong aversion to his eyes they all seem like justifications in retrospect. “Maybe? What does it matter? I can't deal with having him around, constantly reminding me of what I did.”

She sighs heavily.

“I think it would be good for you,” she says in a gentle tone, watching me for a reaction. I jerk my head like I've been stung, but she meets my eyes evenly.

“Why?”

Why would she ask me to put myself through that, day after day, on top of everything else I have to deal with? Does she not understand that I'm already overloaded, that the extra strain could take me down?

“Because,” she says firmly, “you played a hand in that tragedy, but you did not kill all of those people. You live your life with an excessive sense of obligation and guilt, and I think it's time you started to let go of it. You have spent years making up for the mistakes of a teenager. Don't you think it's time to start forgiving yourself?”

I'm silent for several seconds, unsure of how to respond.

“Do you...” I start hesitantly, “Do you think taking him on would do that? Would help me feel like I deserve to be forgiven and help... help me forgive myself?”

“I don't know,” she says, and then sighs softly again, “but nothing else has. Maybe, if it doesn't do anything else, helping him will give you the sense of atonement that you've been striving for.”

I hesitate, rolling her words over in my mind. Taking in Dodger seems like asking for pain, but could it actually be better for my long-term mental stability? Could Mari be right?

“I think it's too late,” I whisper. “I let him go, and for all I know he might have been sold already.” I suddenly feel very weary. “I don't know if I'll ever see him again.”

Mari shrugs, like I haven't just passed up my one chance at redemption.

“You travel in a small circle. He might turn up.” Then she hesitates before saying, “Or maybe it just wasn't meant to be.”

I can't help but think it sounds somewhat ominous. I have never known fate to be particularly kind, and I've certainly never known it to give multiple chances. I can't help but feel like redemption was in my grasp, and I was too blinded by guilt to keep it from slipping through my fingers. Worse yet is that, once again, I'm not the only one who suffers from my stupidity.

Mari must see something in my expression, because her voice goes soft as she says, “Don't give up yet, Zeke. I have to go now - it isn't safe to keep the comms open this long – but don't lose hope. You're getting there, I promise.”

Then she's gone, and despite the three other people on my ship, I feel utterly alone. For several minutes, I just stare at the screen that Mari's face was on only moments ago. Sick and sad and probably clinically depressed, I can't even make myself move.

It isn't until Kiplan knocks on the door that I manage to pull myself together. I know he sent me a message to come down for lunch earlier, somehow I didn’t equate my lack of response with the fact that he would bring it to me. I quickly shut down the feed and close the window. I take a quick glance around to make sure I don't have anything compromising in the open, before unlocking the door and letting Kip enter with the lunch he's prepared. 

Kip smiles at me as he settles the tray and bustles out. He is very good at tucking his true feelings away and being pleasant, even though I know that I hurt him by passing on Dodger without an explanation. The party in general was hard on him, and I’m afraid that I wasn’t as supporting or protective as I could have been. I feel like I’ve been failing Kip on all fronts lately, and it doesn’t help that he’s starting to look pale and ill again. My tangled emotions lessen the temptation I feel to follow him back down and eat with Kip and Zero. I'm just too raw still. I feel like a cracked mirror, with half of the reflections showing me and half of them showing the monster I’m trying to portray. I need more time to let my ragged edges knit before I can manage to hide them again. I can’t let Kip and Zero see me so frayed and broken. 

I pull up reports from my company and bury myself in facts and figures. Reviewing proposals for new ventures is a tedious process and most of them won't create the increase in income that I need. Still, I need to step out of my own head for a while, and it serves as a passable distraction. Eventually, I get so caught up that I lose track of everything else. The weight begins to fall from my shoulders for the first time in days.

The stress returns when Zero enters abruptly, surprising me with his entrance. Thankfully I'm not doing anything that I would need to hide. Of course, if I'd needed privacy, the door would have been locked, although I doubt that would have stopped Zero for long. Still, I take a moment to close the reports before turning toward his scowling form.

“Please come in,” I say with a sharp, annoyed edge. “No need to knock.”

He gives a little grunt of reply – not an apology, but an acknowledgment that I've spoken. I'm on a short fuse, probably because of stress and exhaustion, so the curt answer makes me bristle.

“Did you need something?” I snap. “Or do you simply take pleasure in barging in on me?”

There's a moment of uncharacteristic hesitation from Zero, before he says, “You can't take Kip to events like this anymore.”

There's a moment of completely characteristic hesitation from me while I process what he's telling me.

“I'm sorry, why can't I take my pleasure asset to a social gathering and show him off?”

“Because he can't handle it,” Zero growls. “Whatever this experiment was, it's not working.”

And he's right, of course. Even I've noticed how tense Kip gets when I take him out, how unsettled he is at the possibility of having sex with or in front of others. I had hoped that he would get better after the Line, would settle into his role and relax. But while Zero has managed to adapt to his new role with the same resilience he shows in battle, Kip has proven to be stiff and unmalleable. Much like his porcelain looks, I fear his psyche will shatter like glass under the pressure of this new identity.

What other option do I have, though?

“I need Kip's experience,” I explain with patience that I don't really feel right now. There's a dull pain in my head that is most likely the result of a night of heavy, ill-advised drinking. The fact that my pain is a result of my own actions only serves to make my state all the more irritating. “You don't have enough knowledge of the Leash's social expectations to manage without him.”

“So use him as a domestic,” Zero points out logically.

“I won't be able to keep him close enough.”

“You also won't have him making a scene by bolting from the room,” Zero growls, just as short-tempered as I am.

“He won't run-”

“He can't perform the way you want!” he cuts me off with a snarl. “He's on edge every time we're in public, terrified someone's going to fuck him. You keep putting him under that strain and you'll break him!”

“What would you have me do?” I yell. “Get rid of him?”

My outburst stops Zero cold. His expression doesn't change, but his eyes widen and his face pales. For a moment, he's completely frozen. It doesn't even seem like he breathes.

“Damn it,” I curse, then run my hands through my hair. I rub at my eyes, wishing I could start this whole conversation over. I know I'm fucking it up. “You know I wouldn't get rid of Kip.” I glance at him, hoping to see that he believes me, but he won't meet my eyes. “I just... What would you have me do, Zero? He's not strong enough to compete as a domestic. I only have one spare slot, and Ruby's in it at the moment. Even if I don't keep Ruby, I don't have time to train another pleasure asset from the beginning.”

There's a moment of silence, then Zero says in a much more subdued tone, “So you are planning to Compete this year?”

“Yes,” I respond, knowing that it's out of the bag at this point. It's probably for the best – it's not like I can keep it from him until I take him to compete. “I'm not going public with my decision until the last possible moment, but I'm planning to assemble a Competition team this year.”

“That's madness,” he says, nearly at a whisper.

“It's not,” I defend angrily. He shakes his head again, almost a denial, and I growl, “Listen. It's a sound plan. I've already got you, and you'll be able to compete in pleasure and combat once I get your hip fixed.”

“If you wanted to Compete in pleasure, why didn't you grab Dodger when you had the chance?” he asks. His face is puzzled, still flailing from my revelation and trying to find his balance. “I don't understand. Dodger has the experience you're looking for. He was the logical choice.”

I wish I could tell him, “The thought of having Dodger as a constant presence fills me with dread.” I wish I could say, “Those red eyes haunt my dreams at night and wake me in a cold sweat.” I wish I could make him understand that, “Dodger is the sum of everything I'm trying to atone for. All my sins, in one pretty package.” I wish I could admit, “I know it's not fair to Dodger. I know that he's not responsible for the circumstance of his birth, and that I'm to blame for his current situation. I'm sorry that I wasn't strong enough to take him when I had the chance. I wish I could promise you that next time I'll be stronger, I'll take him with us, or even that I'll complete my mission before anything happens to him. I can't promise any of that, and I'm sorry. I'm trying my best, but it never seems like it's quite enough.”

Instead, I tell him, “Dodger was a risk. His performance at previous Competitions was unreliable, and I couldn't justify his price.”

I don't mention that I didn't even get a price from Jackson. After getting a good look at Dodger's eyes, my main focus had been on drinking them out of my memory. Maybe I could send a message to Jackson? No. Shit. I repress the urge to rub my eyes again. Jackson was already asking a lot for him – Carter told me that much. If I send him a message after the party, I'll come across as desperate and lose any chance I have of negotiating. My funds are already stretched, and I would still need two more assets after Dodger. Three if I don't keep Ruby.

Ruby – who is an as-of-yet unknown amount of headache for me. Damn it. I'll have to rectify that at some point. Like everything else lately, I've made a mess of it.

“Dodger,” Zero protests, bringing me back to the conversation, “has been in the Competition for pleasure. I've never even competed.”

“Dodger is set in his ways. Your skills are more adaptable.”

“I just started pleasure!” he growls. “I hardly have any skills!”

“You're rapidly building your skill set,” I claim, but even I know it sounds weak. “Look how far you've come in this short time. You're one of the most popular pleasure assets – you get attention wherever we go.”

“It's not...” he stumbles over his words, unbalanced and upset. “Popular and skilled are not the same thing!”

“You're good at what you do. Zero, you've adapted to this quite naturally. I think you could manage a good score.”

He doesn't look convinced. Still, he pushes forward.

“You need a Competition team,” he says in a slow voice, like he's taking stock of the situation and trying to calculate a plan. “So train Ruby to Compete and put Kip back in your extra slot. Ruby can start learning pleasure from me and domestics from Kip.”

“Ruby doesn't have your appeal,” I contend, irritated that he assumes I haven't already run through this possibility. “Even if he could manage to learn as fast as you did, which is unlikely, he won't garner as much attention. He'll never manage to be as good in domestics as Kip in the time frame we've got. However good Ruby gets in the next couple months, Kip will still be a thousand times better. Ruby will be competing against assets on Kip's level, not beginners like he is. It's bad enough I'm putting you and Kip into pleasure without much experience, but Ruby wouldn't stand a chance.”

“And Kip?” he questions. “Why not Compete him in domestics? He's got the experience for it. Even his last owner said it would be stupid not to.”

“If I thought I could, I'd Compete him in both,” I admit, “but Kip can't handle stress of Domestic duties under normal conditions right now. He might be better, but he's certainly not strong. I can't risk him collapsing during the domestic event.”

“And you think the pleasure event is going to be easier?” he retorts, his tone baffled.

“I don't know!” I snap. “I don't know what to do with him! Damn it, Zero, I'm doing what I can!”

“I don't understand!” he growls, but it's loud and laced with the threat of violence. We're pushing each other too close to the edge. “I don't know why you won't tell me anything!”

“There's nothing to tell,” I reply, trying to bring my voice into a calmer decibel. “I've decided we're Competing this year, so that's all there is to it.”

“Why are you being like this?” he asks, and now there's a plaintive tone to it. “This isn't who I-...” he cuts himself off, then pushes forward again. “You weren't this way when I first met you.”

“Of course I was,” I respond easily. Only years of experience in acting and espionage allow me to say it so flippantly, to hide what it's costing me to smear myself in Zero's eyes. If there was one thing I was hoping I wouldn't have to do, it was to make Zero hate me.

But it seems it's unavoidable.

“You weren't-...”

“I  _ am _ ,” I cut him off. “I don't know what you thought I was, Zero, but this is who I am. I own you, and we're going to follow my plan. If you have nothing else to contribute to the existing situation, then you can show yourself out.”

He stiffens, and the pale, wide-eyed look is back on his face. It's like he's seeing me for the first time, and I can feel his eyes roaming all over me, looking for signs of deception. I don't give him any. The mask is firmly in place, and not even Zero can work his way under the cracks.

I wish it hadn't come to this.


	17. Another Deceit - Zero POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! If you've left me a comment and haven't received a response yet, please don't be upset. I am working on it, I promise! I got a lot of feedback on the last chapter, and I appreciate all the reviews and I always try to respond to them. However, I am also working on the end of this section, so I have to balance the amount of time I put in to my responses and the amount of time I spend writing. (Just not enough hours in the day, you know?) Chapter 19 is written, so we're safe for next week and the week after. Hopefully I can keep up the pace up! 
> 
> As always, betas are the absolute best. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. I couldn't do it without them!

I don't believe him.

I don't believe Zeke when he says he's always been this – been an owner and nothing more. I don't believe he could fake it that convincingly, or that I could have judged him so wrongly. I don't believe that his actions could speak nothing for his character, and I know that he did not behave like a monster when we first met.

I know these things, but it changes nothing. If he tells me he is an owner and nothing more, then that is how I must treat him. If he wants to set this up so that it's him against us... then damn him, but I have to let it happen.

So I swallow the bile that has risen in the back of my throat, and I look him straight in the eye.

And then I lie my ass off.

“I need you to buy more pain-patches.”

“There's a whole stock of them in the med-bay. Did something happen?” Zeke responds, concern pushing out some of the irritation that was already there. I feel that I might have made a tactical error by addressing these issues now, when he is obviously fatigued and irritable. Had I waited, would it have changed anything? But it's too late for second-guessing now.

“The ones in the med-bay are gone,” I reply evenly.

Confusion wars with concern and irritation as he says, “I don't understand.”

I pull up my shirt to reveal the patch on my skin, just above my hip. The one that Kip used and I repurposed as part of my contingency plan. Unfortunately, this conversation has gone badly enough that secondary tactics are necessary.

I'll do whatever I need to do to protect Kip.

“I've been using them to combat the pain from my wounds. We're out. If you want me to continue training...”

“Damn it, Zero!” he snarls, and yanks the patch from my skin with an angry hiss. I repress the urge to flinch away – surprised that I even have the urge. The flinch reaction was trained out of me early. It's been a long time since I've had to force myself not to. But then, I haven't seen such an aggressive reaction from Zeke before, either. And after our conversation, I am... unbalanced.

“This isn't a casual drug!” Zeke continues, looking at the patch in his hand and finding it completely used. “They use these things for minor surgeries! You can't- How many have you taken?”

“All of them.”

“All...” he trails, his mouth hung open.

“I was careful with the dosage.”

“There's no way,” he growls, “that you could be careful and also take that many of them. We don't even know what impact this is having on your health!”

Zeke goes on in that vein, kneeling beside me to inspect the irritated skin where the patch was, like I'd be stupid enough to put them all in the same place. His fingers ghost over my side while his words swirl around me. I remain silent. I can't help but wonder if he would be this upset if he knew it was Kip taking these patches and not me. Would he be so angry? Or is it only because I'm useful to him and valuable as a bargaining chip? Is he truly worried about me, or only about his soldier?

Those thoughts aren't generous to Zeke, but I can't deny the doubts I've started to have about him. I don't believe that he's nothing more than an owner, that he's never cared about us. But that he might be changing into an owner? That he may be losing whatever kindness and humanity that he started out with? Those thoughts creep in, past the unwavering faith that I've tried to hold onto, and poison my mind. They are subtle and slow to come, but insidious and undeniable.

“These aren't cheap,” he says finally, when he's calmed to a simmering anger, “and I don't know when I can get more.”

“BloodSports arena will have them,” I respond. “My last owner sold shipments there to keep the fighters going.”

“I see,” he says, his voice low and even. He sighs again and rubs his hand across his forehead. “No training until I get you looked at.”

I make a growling sound and grind my teeth together. If he is shifting toward becoming a normal owner, then keeping myself as a valuable asset is essential to keeping myself and Kip safe. I can't hope to influence Zeke if I don't have something to bargain with.

“That could be weeks. If you want me to compete...”

“...Then I have to make sure you stay alive to do it!” he cuts me off, his voice raised again. “You knew there would be consequences when you told me this, or you wouldn't have hidden it in the first place!”

I grind down on a snarl and bite my tongue. I had prepared for this possibility. I knew the risk when I came here.

“It will be fine,” he tells me, his voice trying to be soothing but I can tell he's still annoyed. “It's only a couple weeks. If you'd trusted me in the first place then we wouldn't be in this mess, but we'll make the best of it.”

I don't respond. It's been a long time since I've had this much difficulty expressing myself, but these new developments are throwing my mind into turmoil.

“Come on,” he tells me, climbing back to his feet. “Let's get some tea and we can discuss making this purchase at BloodSports next week. I'm sure you already know that I'll be meeting Vikram there. I was hoping to buy a combat asset, but...” he trails, and his eyes have a faraway look, like he's trying to calculate something in his mind. Then he snaps out of it and turns back to me. “Anyway, we'll have to see if we can get a good price on them.”

“Could you get them from your original source?” I ask him. Most places regulate the sale of drugs to non-medical entities, but Zeke must have had a connection when he got his original supply. He certainly had a lot for a personal carrier.

“No,” Zeke says, and his expression is guarded. “That avenue is closed to me.”

Damn all this evasive bullshit. How am I supposed to strategize if I only have half the variables?

“The scholarly asset you get will be licensed,” I explain. “I've heard that Ellaine submits her candidates to the licensing board on her Satellite. The asset will be able to go through legal channels to get you more patches, although they will be more expensive and it will take longer to get them. Should BloodSports fail, we do have other options.”

I'm hoping it doesn't come to that. It's a last-ditch effort that puts Kip in a lot of danger, both from his headaches and from discovery by Master Zeke.

“Come,” Zeke says, heading toward the door. “We'll talk about this in the kitchen.”

I follow, feeling a bit better about the situation. Everything else might have gone sideways, but my original goals were successful: Protect Kip and get Zeke to buy more pain-patches. At least in that sense, I haven't made things worse.

My heart plummets when Zeke opens the door to the professional-style kitchen on this floor and Kip is there, his arms filled with bottles of spices and seasonings. Shit. He was supposed to be sleeping. What's he even doing up here? But then I spot a pile of vegetables and a plate of red meat sitting on the counter, and I realize that Kip must have skipped his nap in favor of starting dinner early.

Kip glances at the door, smiling when he sees Master and myself coming in. He puts aside a couple of bottles of herbs, placing them on the counter with his other ingredients.

“Master Zeke,” Kip says with an open smile. “I'm glad you came down. Are you hungry? I was just putting a roast together for dinner, but I could...” he trails, seeing the stern expression on Master's face and the neutral one on my own. “What's happened?” he asks, his voice concerned and a bit alarmed.

“Don't act like you didn't know about the patches,” Master Zeke says flatly. “I highly doubt that Zero could have hidden it from you.”

If Kip had managed to catch the second part of the statement, he might have questioned what exactly Zeke knew about the patches. However, judging from Kip's expression, he stopped listening after the patches were mentioned. His eyes are wide and fearful, his jaw slack and his mouth open. He stutters on a breath, not managing to make a coherent word. His hands twitch, grasping at the air.

I have to intervene before he admits the truth, incorrectly thinking that I told Zeke about Kip's migraines and his dependency on the pain-patches.

“I've already told Master Zeke,” I growl, getting Kip's attention, “that I used the patches to combat the pain from my hip. There's no point in getting upset about it.”

I can only hope that Kip's coherent enough to read the hidden message in my words. That the damage is done, don't make a scene or you'll blow it for both of us.

Kip must understand, because his eyes lock to mine with an intensity that surprises me. Far from my desired effect, Kip actually goes paler. His breaths are coming in short, panicked little puffs. His grasping hand finds the edge of the counter and locks there with a white-knuckled grip. He stumbles to the side, and I realize that the counter is the only thing holding him up at this point.

Damn it, Kip. I didn't foresee this. Don't faint. Don't fucking faint or I won't be able to cover for you! But my movement would be just as revealing, so I stay stock-still beside Master, watching the scene play out.

Despite the odds being stacked against it, Kip manages to pull himself under control. He shakes his head and staggers back onto his feet. He takes a long breath and lets it out slowly, odd but not suspicious under these circumstances. Then he bows low and says, “I'm sorry, Master. I shouldn't have lied to you.”

“I understand that you were just trying to protect him,” Zeke says, still angry, “but it's stupid to hide something like this from me. I can't help him if I don't have all the information.”

“I understand,” Kip says, but it's in a neutral tone. Knowing what I do of the situation, it's easy to read his disbelief. At this point, I still want to believe that Master Zeke would help Kip if I revealed his migraines, but...

But it's getting harder to hold on to that blind faith given the mounting evidence to the contrary.

“Zero and I will be having tea and discussing the repercussions of his actions,” Master says as he seats himself at the table along the wall.

“Repercussions?” Kip asks, his voice alarmed. Master just waves a hand.

“I'm not going to punish him for this, as he's apparently already in enough pain. And it's not like there are any privileges that he likes enough for me take away as a punishment.” I've come to enjoy being around Kip enough that it would cause me mental distress to be separated from him, although I'm certainly not going to volunteer that information to Zeke. He's definitely correct in that I have no mental attachment to any of the recreational devices available on the ship. “So the only thing I can really do is ban him from training until we get his hip fixed, which is something that needs to happen anyway.”

“I see,” Kip says as he busies himself with making tea and setting out the accouterments. I seat myself at the table, somewhat startled to notice that I've been standing awkwardly at the door. Silence stretches and for once it seems like no one knows what to say, not just me. When the quiet is just starting to get uncomfortable, Kip has the tea to distract us. He fills our cups and lays down a plate of miniature, flower-shaped cookies. Zeke takes one and nibbles on it as he adds cream and sugar to his tea, but my stomach is too unsettled for food at the moment. I take a sip of my plain tea to be polite, but it's too sweet for my taste even without any sugar. There's a subtle taste of vanilla that is just too cloying for me. I make myself take another sip before putting it aside. Zeke finishes his cookie before meeting my gaze.

“Alright,” he says, his voice tired and resigned. “Let's talk about BloodSports.”

I can't remember what all we discuss. In the moment, it feels like the longest interrogation I've been through in a long time. We talk about how much the pain-patches should cost and how to best approach the topic without revealing that I will be competing. We talk about potentially buying a second combat asset, both because I urgently need a sparring partner if I plan to compete this year and because Zeke needs a second combat asset. We talk about what traits to look for in an asset and what Zeke can expect to see at the BloodSports Arena. We talk about Zeke's planned trip to see Owner Ellaine's assets in the next few weeks and talk about using the scholarly asset as a backup if we can't get what we need at Bloodsports.

At some point, the discussion turns to the cost of an experienced combat or scholarly asset. Zeke gets vague about his budget, leading me to believe that we might be stretching it. That's not unexpected – making a large purchase like an asset while keeping up with the lifestyle of an owner would be difficult even for a member of the elite. The Leash tends to keep a lot of their money inside the group, but Zeke currently has nothing to trade. If he were willing to part with me or Kip, he might have more leverage. Even prostituting us would bring him some income, but it would also lower my exclusivity and thereby my value. It would break Kip entirely. Without making money off of his assets and barring any illegal ventures Zeke might be offered for profit, his only real option is to stretch his budget as far as possible. Or he could wait a second year and build up a team from cheaper, less-skilled assets, but I already know that he's unwilling to do that.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Zeke finishes the last of his tea, pushes his cup aside, and gets to his feet.

“I'm going to take a long bath and relax,” he says, already heading toward the door. “I'll be taking dinner in my study when it's finished.”

“What about Ruby?” I ask.

“Not tonight,” he responds without turning back. “I'll deal with him tomorrow.”

Then he's gone and it's just me and Kip, who has been hovering around me and Zeke all night. Kip, who is still puttering at the counter even though I'm sure I saw him put the roast in the over twenty minutes ago. Kip, who is facing away from me, so I can see how tight and strained his shoulders are.

After a few minutes, I check the ship's monitoring software to make sure Zeke is where he said he would be. Once I know that he's not likely to walk back in on us, I tell him, “He's gone. Go ahead.”

“You shouldn't have done that,” Kip says, his voice tight. He won't look at me.

“I had to do something.”

“You should have just told him about me! You shouldn't have taken the blame!” he says, his voice high and angry. I expected his ire. I knew he would not be pleased with my actions. Never, not once, has he ever implied that he would be okay with sacrificing me to save him. Despite the fact that he once performed a familiar act to save me – lying to our Owner at a cost to himself so that he could protect me – I knew that he would not want me to practice the same tactic.

“I wasn't going to risk you,” I protest, trying to keep my voice calm in the face of his anger. It doesn't do any good.

“It isn't your decision to make!” he growls and moves toward the door. “I won't let you take the punishment for my actions! I'll tell him myself!”

Forget the fact that my punishment is a week-long vacation and his could potentially be death. I can tell that Kip's too emotional for logic right now, so I surge to my feet and grab his arm. I try to be careful of my strength as I hold him, aware that Kip is frail and I am inhumanly strong.

“What's done is done,” I contend. “Let it go.”

“Damn it Zero!” he screams. “I am dying! You know that! I won't drag you down with me!”

My grip on his arm tightens. I'm probably hurting him, but I can't make myself stop.

“You will  _ not  _ die,” I snarl. “I won't let you!”

“You can't control everything!” he snaps, and jerks away from me again. This time I let his arm go and he stumbles back a step. “You're in denial! There's nothing you can do for me!”

Then he storms off, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I don't think he'll actually tell Zeke, and I am aware that if he really wants to, then I can't stop him. The room is suddenly echoingly silent. I sit heavily at the table. Figures and contingencies run through my head, jumbled and disjointed. I can't pull them together, can't make any sense out of them. In my head, one thought keeps resurfacing.

Am I doing the right thing?

Maybe half an hour passes before I hear the kitchen door open very softly. I can hear Kip's light footsteps as he enters and closes the door behind him. He waits there, by the door, for me to speak. I just keep staring at the granite counter in front of me. Eventually, he dares to tiptoe forward, and then surprises me by kneeling next to my chair.

“I'm sorry,” he says, his voice breathless and raw. I glance at him, and his face is pale and blotchy.

I nod, not entirely sure how to respond, and then lay my hand on his shoulder. He leans his head on my knees and I push away from the table to give him more space. He turns toward me and hides his face against my abdomen.

“I'm so terrified that my weakness is going to hurt you,” he admits, his voice somewhat muffled by my shirt. “I just... If I can't be saved, I don't want to take you with me.”

“I'll save you,” I whisper to him, but my voice is soft and wispy, lacking all the strength and conviction of my previous statements.

“I know you'll try,” Kip says, his voice thick and I think that the front of my shirt will be wet when he pulls away, “because you think you love me. And even if it's not the same kind, I love you too and I want to protect you just as much as you want to protect me. Please, Zero, don't get yourself killed trying to save me.”

And then he's crying again, sobbing brokenly against my knees. I card my fingers through his hair and feel another pulse of worry. Kip has always been sentimental, but his mood swings have gotten exponentially worse in the last few days. It makes me wonder if it's another symptom of his mysterious illness, which seemed better when Kip first arrived but has continued to get worse with no obvious cause or pattern.

I can't help the feeling that we're running out of time.


	18. The Wrong Decision - Zeke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're heading toward the end of this section! I'm a little behind in responding to reviews, but I do read and appreciate all of them. I hope you're all enjoying these last couple chapters!
> 
> As always, betas are the absolute best. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. Akira was up burning the midnight oil with me last night to get this chapter ready to post - so a special thanks goes out to her! But honestly, the whole team is amazing and I give them all the appreciation I can!

I have Zero bring the new asset to my bedroom for our first meeting. It's grand enough to be impressive, but familiar enough that I'm comfortable in my surroundings. There's a half-circle of white couches off to the side of the room, near an overlarge fireplace and several expensive vases. I settle in the center of the far couch and instruct Kip to kneel off to the side. I haven't decided yet if Kip will be a help or a hindrance in this situation, but he has more experience with new assets than either Zero or myself. His input could be valuable, if he doesn't get too upset by the situation. Somehow, I doubt that Ruby will be docile and acquiescent. I have to be prepared to respond to his outbursts and put down any acts of defiance he might attempt. 

Zero leads the new asset into the room. I take a moment to look him over with a depth that I haven't managed so far. His hair is a dark color – almost an auburn – but still with a strong orange tone. It reminds me of the sun peeking through fall leaves. It's grown out and has a heavy curl, so that it tangles in a haphazard mass around his face. His face is narrow and lean, the kind of shape that hints at future growth and fullness. His skin is a milky white, but healthy looking, unlike Kip's sickly porcelain. His eyes are bright green, and they flick around the room with quick intelligence. The rest of him is lean like his face, his body still shedding the awkward angles of his youth into the grace and power of adulthood. He's Kip's height already, a bit shorter than Zero but with the promise of more growing to come. He'll likely surpass them both, if I keep him around long enough to see his body grow to full maturity.

Zero has a firm grip on Ruby's arm, with the appendage twisted partially behind his back. Ruby glares and tries to pull away, jerking ineffectively in Zero's grasp. When they get in front of me, Zero lets Ruby go and Ruby topples to the floor. He comes to his knees with a snarl and an angry curse, his fists balled in front of him. I can see angry welts where Zero removed his bindings. I'm not sure Ruby was enough of a threat to have needed his hands tied all night, but since I didn't give Zero directions to the contrary I suppose I only have myself to blame.

“You fucking...”

“That's enough,” I cut in, unwilling to let Ruby and Zero get into an altercation. Not that it would be much of a fight.

Ruby's attention snaps to me and his shoulders sag, shrinking in on himself defensively. He keeps his gaze on me warily as he shifts in my direction, keeping his legs together and his hands in front of his lap self-consciously. With him kneeling and naked, I can see that the smattering of freckles on his face continues in a lighter dusting down his arms and across his body, ending in the few freckles I can see on his hip. It creates a nice contrast to the otherwise pale skin and seems to add to his beauty instead of detracting from it. While it's not particularly difficult to remove imperfections like scars, moles, or freckles, I think I'll let Ruby keep them. They give him a more natural, innocent look that's quite appealing.

I stand slowly and circle the teen, keeping my pace leisurely. Zero moves to come closer but I wave him off. Ruby is still hunched and tense, obviously terrified. I don't see him as much of a threat. Frightened green eyes follow me as I look him over. I keep my hands folded behind my back so that I make a less threatening silhouette. The pale skin of his back is mostly free of freckles, although there are a few along his shoulders. His skin is smooth, long and lean panes, all the way down to the curve of his ass. I try to keep my pace steady so that I'm not looming over him while I complete my circle and take a second one.

I have my attention on his ruddy curls when he snakes a foot out and trips me. Zero, who had been looming in a seemingly overprotective manner, catches me before I can do more than stumble. Ruby shoots to his feet and bolts in Kip's direction, away from Zero and the only exit in the room.

“Ruby,” I snarl as Zero helps me right myself, “discipline level two.”

It’s the only response I have available without striking him, and I can’t bring myself to touch him in violence. Not with what I’m hoping to teach him tonight. Having him associate my touch with violence would only hinder my ultimate goal of training him in pleasure, but I can’t let him lash out without reprisal. Zero would strike him in my stead if I asked, but I don’t feel right putting that on his shoulders. Without putting this task on Zero or hitting him myself, the only option I’m left with is to utilize the chip. 

Ruby stumbles almost immediately with a pained cry, slamming to his knees before falling forward onto all fours. He gives a weak sob, his shoulders shaking, but manages to stay upright. It makes me feel a bit sick, watching him and knowing I'm the cause of his distress. After a few seconds, the pain ceases and he tilts to his side, sitting more or less on his hip with his legs tucked under him.

“Well,” I say calmly, pulling away from Zero. “That was ill-advised. Can I be assured that there will not be a repeat performance?”

At first, I don't think he's going to respond to me at all. His eyes roam, unfocused and fixing on nothing. He shifts unsteadily, with all his weight on his hip and one arm, the other coming up to rub his head. I track that hand, wondering if it can give me a hint as to where the chip might be placed, but it just rubs generally at his forehead. Finally, he braces both hands on the floor and looks at me, his face blotchy and terrified.

“What did you do to me?” he asks in a panicked, pained cry. Tears still spill from his eyes, down his cheeks. His face is already becoming puffy and red. He doesn't cry prettily, I'll have to remember that. Train it out of him, if possible. “What's happening? Who are you?”

I take a moment to resume my place on the couch before responding. I don't want him thinking he can demand answers from me, but his questions need addressed regardless. Zero moves to loom over Ruby again as I settle in my seat, Kip kneeling patiently at my feet.

“You have a chip in your head that allows me to punish and control you to some extent. What you just experienced was a low-level discipline. That was the second level and it goes as high as ten. I'd rather not have to increase the severity. You’ve already experienced the highest level once, when I transferred you.”

“A chip in my...” he gasps, and at this point he's looking a little green and swaying unsteadily again.

“You have been taken by an organization called The Leash and acquired by me. You are, for all intents and purposes, my property.”

“You can't just own people...”

“I hate to disagree, but apparently with enough money I can. My name is Ezekiel Price. You may call me Master Zeke, Master, or sir.”

“I'm not going to fucking call you-”

“Ruby, discipline level three.”

This time he shrieks with pain, falling completely onto his side. He lays there, curled into a miserable, softly keening ball until the pain drops him. This time it takes him longer to recover. I give him time, and eventually he sits up on his own. I hear him gag once as he settles – probably a reaction from the stress and pain. I didn't expect this to be easy, but I also wasn't anticipating that he'd be quite so stubborn and rebellious. I suppose thinking he might be like Kip and Zero when they first came to me was unrealistic, as both of them had already been broken many, many times before they ever met me.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” I tell Ruby in a gentle tone, “but it would make things easier for you if you could just accept your new situation.”

He turns angry green eyes on me and snarls, “You can't just keep me like this! I'll find a way out! Someone will find me!”

“Who?” I ask, partially curious. “Is someone looking for you? Does anyone care?”

At this, he pales a bit and the anger drains out of him. In retrospect, it does seem a bit cruel. Kip has already told me that they look for people with no family or personal ties.

“I have a b...” He hesitates, then swallows and finishes, “a brother. They snatched him the same time they grabbed me.”

“Oh?” I wonder. I glance at Kip, who is also frowning in a perplexed manner.

“A twin?” Kip asks, and it must be a slip because he looks at me guiltily. I wave it off. There's no point in having him here for advice if he can't speak to give it.

“He's older,” Ruby corrects. He licks his lips and then ventures, “He's... We're half brothers. He's got darker skin than I do.”

“Tell me more,” I prompt, realizing what a good opening this is for some background information. “Where were you taken from? What was your life like before? Who all was taken with you?”

“I don't... It was dark,” he says hesitantly, but his eyes go distant as he thinks about it. He seems to settle, having something to focus on, and his voice is clearer when he speaks. “We'd been sleeping on the streets for a couple nights. We had to leave the boy's home after my brother aged out. My mom died a few years back in an industrial accident, but I was too old to find a new family so they stuck me in a boy's home. Red was already there. He'd been in and out of foster care after his mom died a couple years earlier. I didn't want to be left behind when Red aged out, so I sneaked out and followed him. You can stay at the home until you’re twenty, but you’re not supposed to leave if you’re under 18. It was a couple months until my birthday, so we had to avoid the shelters and the cops.”

Two brothers, both with absentee fathers and single mothers, meeting up after each of them has experienced the death of his only parent. Did they know one another? In a vague way, perhaps? Did they turn to each other as two frightened youths in a storm, taking solace in that minimal familiarity? But these are details that will emerge at a later time, not relevant to our current discussion.

“They named you Ruby and Red?” I ask, feeling my lips quirk.

“It's Reubus,” he corrects with a frown, “and technically his name is Redmond. But yeah, essentially.”

“What were you doing on the streets?”

“We were headed toward the lower decks. Satellite 29 doesn't have a lot of opportunities, but we'd heard about some ships looking for young men to load and unload cargo. We were hoping one of them would take us on and let us ship out with them. I wasn't... I wasn't really supposed to leave the boys home, as I was underage. Red had his papers to work, but if I'd been caught, I would have been sent back.”

There are still low-grade shipping vessels that will take on young men without paperwork as undocumented labor. Most of these companies are involved in other shady practices as well, like drugs or prostitution. Having illegal workers is one of the ways these businesses cut costs and minimize the risk of whistler-blowers. These youths also tend to be expendable, and I've heard of more than one ship leaving them stranded and empty-handed in an unknown space port.

“And then what happened?”

“What do you think happened?” he snaps. “Somebody grabbed us while we were sleeping. Must have tranqued us first. I woke up in a cargo hull, tied and gagged. Red was beside me at first, tried to get out of his bindings but they were too tight. By the time they unloaded us, he'd cut open his wrists struggling. I thought they just took him away to get bandaged, but then they started separating the bigger guys from the smaller guys. They knocked me out again, and then I woke up in your room.”

I take a moment to process this. Originally, I had assumed that Ellaine would take her captives directly from her youth homes, but maybe that would be too obvious. Is it likely that she uses these tactics more often? That she lets the boys “escape” before tracking them down and picking them off? Or did Ruby delay her plans by escaping early? Did she let him escape so that the trail couldn't be traced back to her, or did Ruby manage to slip her clutches only to be dragged back later?

Ruby's eyes are still distant, his face pale and pinched. In a small voice, he says, “I don't even think they were after Red. I think he just got grabbed because he was with me. We got taken the day after my birthday. Somehow, it doesn't seem like a coincidence.”

That lends a little bit of credit to the idea that Ellaine might have let Ruby go only to catch him later. It seems likely that for her to grab him the day after he came of age, she'd need to have known where he was already. I already know that the Leash doesn't deal with underage youths or females, although I don't yet understand the reasoning for this. It seems that Ellaine is clever enough not to poach from her own stock and raise questions about her intentions.

“If there's...” he says softly, hesitates, then leans toward me, his eyes fierce and desperate. “If there's any way to find him, to... to get him...”

I realize that he's asking me to find his missing brother, and I physically jerk back from him, even though he's still on the floor and I'm sitting on the couch.

“Out of the question.”

There's no way. I cannot and will not purchase another untrained asset. I might as well throw in the towel if I do. I'll never manage to win the Competition. I'll never get close to the Controller. And I'll never manage to get this monstrous system shut down.

“Please! I'll do anything!”

“You'll do anything I say anyway. You have no choice in the matter.”

His face goes hard, his hands ball into fists again.

“Then I'll escape. You can't hold me here forever! I'll call for help!”

“All the communication lines to and from the ship pass through the ship's cockpit,” Zero interjects, shooting a glare at the boy as if daring him to try. “All the lines on-board are encoded with facial and voice pattern recognition software. Assuming you could even get into the cockpit, which I doubt, good luck getting through my security measures.”

“Then I'll wait until you go into port!” Ruby snarls. “They search all the ships when you dock!”

“They search commercial ships,” I interject. “Not private ships. You need to stop worry about your brother. You're no good to him if you get yourself killed attempting to escape.”

He swallows at the offhanded threat, pulls his temper back, and asks hesitantly, “What do you want from me?”

“Come up here,” I tell him, gesturing to the couch beside me. Kip tenses but says nothing. Ruby hesitates, then gets unsteadily to his feet and sits on the couch beside me, keeping out of arm’s reach. I let him settle, then slide closer. He tenses and leans away from me, but doesn't move. I cup his chin and tilt his head up so I can see his face. Sparkling green eyes peer at me above freckle-dotted cheeks. There's fear in them, but enough resolve that he can meet my eyes.

“You're very pretty, you know that?”

The light in his eyes dims. His shoulders sag and he just seems to... diminish somehow.

“You want to sleep with me,” he says, his voice sad and resigned. He must have known this was coming. I'm almost certainly not the first person to tell him how beautiful he is.

“More than that,” I tell him, stroking my thumb across his cheek. They're still damp from his crying, and I wipe away the remnant of a tear. “I want to teach you to be a courtesan. I can show you how to use sex to bend people to your will, men and women. I can show you how to use desire as a weapon. How to walk into a room and slay every person inside with it.”

I can almost watch the blood drain from his face. Where his eyes were dull before, now they're bright with terror.

“You mean... more than you? I'd have to sleep with... with anyone you choose?”

“Yes, but... it won't be everyone. I'm not going to make you sleep with just anyone.”

“You want to make me your whore?” he asks, his eyes wide with fear. His breaths come in panicked little bursts.

“It isn't like that,” I tell him soothingly, leaning over him. “You won't be hurt or abused. I'll be gentle and train you slowly. I'll show you how to be beautiful and seductive.” His tears have matted some of the red strands to his cheek and darkened them to nearly the color of dried blood. I reach out to stroke his hair from his face, but he jerks away from me. He shuts his eyes, spilling more tears, and then shakes his head in denial.

“Please don't,” he says in a terrified whisper.

“Shh,” I try to calm him. “It's alright. Sex doesn't have to be painful. It can...”

“I know about sex!” he cries out. “I'm not... I've had sex!”

“Then don't cry so,” I tell him soothingly. “I'll make it good for you. I'll teach you how to like it.”

He shakes his head, his eyes closed, and at first I think it's a denial. Then he opens his eyes and pins me with them, the expression I find there hot and hateful.

“Don't,” he snarls. “Don't you dare. You can't force me to enjoy it. If you wanna rape me, just fucking do it and get it over with.”

This isn’t going how I wanted at all. Kip and Zero were both apprehensive about becoming pleasure assets, but accepted with passive resignation if not enthusiasm. I don’t know how to get past Ruby’s active unwillingness. If he refuses to be seduced, can I bring myself to force him?

“Enough,” I growl. My hands have slid to his shoulders and I have to suppress the urge to shake him. “Don't you understand that I'm trying to make it better for you? That it would be so much worse for you if I sent you back, let someone else hurt you until you complied?”

It drains the anger and replaces it with terror, but makes the idea no more appealing to him. Tears fall again and he begs, “Please let me go. I won't- I won't tell anyone. Just please, drop me off anywhere. Let me go.”

If only it were that easy. My hands tighten on his shoulders and I growl in frustration.

“Freedom isn't something I could give you if I wanted to!”

He flinches away from me with his eyes slammed shut, his hands balled in fists on his lap. Still he shakes his head, the only denial that he's capable of right now. His breath is wheezing through his clenched teeth, his muscles held so tight that the tendon stands out in his neck. He's shaking, and I realize that I'm bruising his shoulders where I'm gripping him. Another cascade of tears washes down his cheeks and he tries to turn his face away, tries to hide how miserable and scared he is. A low, keening sob comes from him, broken only by wet, panicked breathing.

What have I done to him? He's terrified of me.

It hits me like a bucket of ice water and I fall back from him. I feel sick to my stomach, and in the next moment I find myself on my feet, putting more distance between us. I turn my back to him, unable to stand the sight of the cowed, quivering thing that I've created. I run a shaking hand through my hair. My fingers feel hot where I touched him, like his skin has seared my own. Nausea rises in me and I realize that this isn't going to work. I'm not going to be able to seduce him, he's too fresh and willful and stubborn. If I want to use him as a sexual asset, I would have to rape him until I broke his mind and then try to put it back together in the shape that I need. And despite the mask of a monster that I'm wearing, even I can't bring myself to do that to this innocent boy.

There are some acts that you just can't come back from. Some things that aren't worth the cost, no matter how many lives it saves.

“Kip,” I hear myself say, “take Ruby to the kitchen. You'll be training him in domestics until further notice.”

“Yes, sir,” he responds quietly, but I can tell he's surprised and pleased with my decision. I hear him rise to his feet and move to the shaken Ruby. It takes some quiet, gentle cajoling before I hear Ruby move from the couch. I don't turn as his footsteps move across the room, almost running in their quickness. I suppose he's worried that I might change my mind if given half a chance. I hear Kip follow at a slower pace, trailing the boy. From the corner of my eye, I can see Zero make a move to follow before reconsidering. Maybe even he realizes that Ruby is in no shape to cause trouble for Kip at the moment. After all, it's Kip who is essentially rescuing him from my cruel clutches.

Or maybe Zero just realizes that I need him more than Kip does at the moment. Maybe he realizes that I would probably fall to pieces if left alone at this moment, with disgust and self-loathing practically drowning me. Whatever issues we've had, whatever lack of trust is between us, Zero has always been my rock of stability, the one constant that I rely on. Sometimes, I think he's the only thing that keeps me grounded.

With Ruby out of the room, I let myself collapse onto one of the other couches, feeling physically and emotionally drained. I glance at Zero and gesture for him to approach. He comes without hesitation, folding himself at my feet, close enough to touch.

“You made the right decision,” he tells me.

“Did I?” I ask, rubbing at my eyes and trying to push the memory of Ruby's terrified eyes from my mind. “It's so hard to tell any more.”

Did I make the right decision for me? Absolutely. Doing something like that, hurting the boy in that manner, is something that I could never come back from. I'd be just as much a monster as the men I'm hunting, and I'm not sure my mental stability could survive it.

Did I make the right decision for the boy? Yes. As best a decision as I could make in a bad situation. Kip will be able to give him some skills that, even if I sell him or give him back, will make him valuable as something other than a warm body.

Did I make the right decision for my assets? Probably not. Kip is still weak, and putting the extra strain of teaching domestics on him might be more than he can handle. At the same time, I'm still relying on Kip to be Zero's backup when I show him at parties. So not only is Kip still a pleasure asset, but he has to attempt to bring Ruby up to his level for domestics before the Competition – a nearly impossible task under the best of circumstances, let alone with Kip still being so frail and easily tired. And if I get rid of Ruby, then we're back at square one for the Competition.

Did I make the right decision for the Competition? Unlikely. Unless Ruby turns out to be a cooking-savant, Kip will still be better than he is no matter how much he improves before the Competition. Kip is a good domestic and a poor pleasure asset. If I could have restricted his duties to domestic-only until the Competition, maybe he would have managed to gain enough strength to Compete. But now, with training Ruby in addition to his other duties, I've pretty much destroyed my chances of getting Kip to recover enough to compete in domestics, and he does so poorly in pleasure that it's unlikely I'll be able to put him there either. Meaning the only strong Competition asset I have at this point is Zero. Great. Two slots down, eight to go. And I can only buy three more assets, so at best I'll fill six slots and have to take a forfeit on two. And that's assuming I can even get Competition assets, given my already limited budget and the fact that I'm running out of time to train them.

Did I make the right decision for the mission? No. Unequivocally. Hurting one asset is worth it in exchange for saving them all. But I can't be the monster they want me to be and still be the savior they need.

So I guess this is the best I can do.


	19. One Thing After Another - Kip POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Not a lot to report this week - still working toward the end of the section. Hopefully everyone's having a nice February. The snow cleared out around us for this week, so I'm pretty happy. :) 
> 
> As always, all the thanks to my Betas. Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways are awesome for helping me out. All the appreciation to them for their efforts. 
> 
> I also want to give a shout-out to Amatory69 and CassieAlex. Amatory 69 posted some awesome fanart on Tumblr - if you haven't seen it, you can check it out [here](https://amatory69.tumblr.com/post/156665137888/zeke-and-zero-from-ryoko21s-original-series-long). And CassieAlex has been lending me her medical knowledge, which I really appreciate. (I am a lot of things, but DEFINITELY not a doctor, lol.) 
> 
> I have to say, I am truly humbled to have such an amazing and supportive fanbase. You all rock!

Zero stays with Master Zeke while I take the shaken Ruby away. Although I always worry when Zero is alone with Master Zeke, I can't help but think it's for the best. Master looked almost as shaken as Ruby by the end of our session, so I don't think it's a good idea to leave him alone. Still, I could have told him that training an untamed asset is difficult. Having helped with it before, I know that it's not for the faint of heart, even from an owner's standpoint.

Ruby is docile as I lead him back down to the lower levels and put him in a shower. He's still subdued when I give him some clothes to wear, although I know that the placid demeanor won't last. He's frightened, but not broken. Not yet.

My clothes are too small for him, so I put him in Zero's extra sleeping clothes. The cotton pants fit okay, although the shirt hangs off of his narrower shoulders. He's stopped crying by the time he finishes his shower, but there's still a melancholy air about him. I sit next to him on the bed, leaving a couple inches of space between us out of respect for his recent trauma. He doesn't seem to take notice of me, so I clear my throat and ask, “How are you doing?”

“How do you think I'm doing?” he responds, but the heat is gone from his voice. He's emotionally drained, if nothing else. “I almost got turned into a sex-slave. How's that supposed to make me feel?”

“You didn't, though,” I point out. “You'll be training as a domestic with me. It's... well, it's not as bad as being a pleasure asset.”

“I can't...” he shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. “I have to get out of here. I have to find Red.”

“You can't do anything for him. Please believe me, if you try to escape you'll just get yourself killed.”

“Only if I get caught,” he snarls. I shake my head sadly and gesture to his temple.

“That thing in your head functions as a tracking chip and remote termination device. If you manage to get away, which I doubt you’ll manage, they can still kill you. Believe me, you can’t run fast enough or get far enough. They can kill you no matter where you go.”

“I have to try! I can’t just leave him out there!” he snarls, and tears leap back into his eyes. Still some reserves of anger to pull from, then. This one's going to be a handful.

“Can I put a vid on for you?” I ask, moving away from him. There's no sense getting into an argument, so I sidestep it. I move to the wall panel and turn it on. It's coded for my use, so Ruby can't use it even to change the channel. I settle on a cooking program, knowing we've got a long way to go and not a lot of time to do it. If Master is hoping Ruby will be ready to compete this year, then he's asking for a miracle that I'm not sure I can achieve.

“Do you like cooking?” I ask casually as I move toward the door. “It's not the only aspect of domestics, but it's usually the primary focus.”

Ruby shrugs, which doesn't inspire a lot of confidence.

“I can peel a potato,” he says flatly, “but that's about it. Red would usually...” His words trail and another tear rolls down his cheek. There will probably be more as he comes to terms with the fact that his brother is gone, probably dead. Hopefully dead, as the other options are considerably less pleasant.

Brother. Something about that bothers me. We almost never hear of siblings in the Leash unless they're twins, and then they're obviously kept as a pair. Most assets here have few or no family ties, or the Leash takes care of their remaining relatives before acquiring the asset. I've never heard of brothers being taken together and then separated. It would make more sense to kill the older one so that the younger one would have no reason to escape. I have to wonder if someone messed up in taking them both, and if Master Zeke will have to bear the consequences of that mistake. If Ruby thinks his brother is still alive and in danger, I can't imagine he'll be anything but unmanageable.

I leave, pulling the door shut softly behind me and listening for the click of the lock. There may come a time that I can trust Ruby not to wander the ship and get into trouble, but we're months if not years from that. Until then, I have to make sure he's in a position to cause as little trouble as possible while I'm not around. I don't know if Master Zeke will end up keeping Ruby, but I couldn't bear to be part of the reason he gets sent back. Master has put that responsibility on me now, and I'll do whatever I can to keep Ruby from making mistakes that will ultimately result in his death.

I take a breath and lean against the closed door for a moment. I feel far more tired than an afternoon of kneeling at Master's feet should leave me. I take a moment to pull myself together and then head to the kitchen. I'll need to start Ruby's training this evening. It's been a long time since I've trained an asset from the complete start, and with Ruby's comment, “I can peel a potato,” I have no doubt that we'll be starting from the very beginning. I have to wonder if he can even peel with a knife, or if he uses one of the little cheater-peelers. I sigh and rub at my forehead. If I have to teach him to properly peel a potato, we’re probably doomed.  

On top of that, I'll still need to find recipes easy enough for him to understand and walk him through the process of reading them. He'll need teaching aides for measurements and cooking times. Instruction manuals for some of the more complex pieces of equipment in the kitchen. When I was with owner Carmé, I was a good trainer. I know it's not as simple as letting Ruby come in and watch what I do.

Zero, to my relief, comes to find me only a half hour or so after I leave Ruby. He's alone, and I cast a questioning glance to the door. He shakes his head.

“Master wanted to work out to clear his head. We took a swim together, but he wanted to jog and I...” he lets it trail off. I already know that Zero isn't permitted to work out now, because Master Zeke thinks the pain in Zero's hip is so strong that he had to take an entire supply of pain-meds to cope. The truth is that I took them, and Zero only took the blame to protect me and try to secure a new supply for me. So now, Master won't let Zero do anything even remotely physical, and he might not allow it until we secure a medical asset.

“I'm sorry,” I find myself whispering, a hot stab of guilt hitting me again. I should have never put this on Zero. I shouldn't have let him help me, let him see how bad it was. I should have...

“Stop it,” he growls. I glance at him, surprised. “I can see you beating yourself up from here. Knock it off. I made my choices and I don't regret them.”

“You shouldn't have had to...”

“I  _ didn't _ have to,” Zero cuts me off again. “I made a choice, and I made the right one. No amount of second-guessing on your part will change that.”

“I just...”

“How's Ruby?” Zero asks, an obvious change of subject. I sigh and let it drop.

“He's as good as can be expected, given the circumstances.”

There isn't much to say, other than that.

“And you?” he asks. “How are you feeling?”

I shrug.

“I'm fine,” I tell him, and it's true relatively speaking. There's pain, but there's always pain. It's not unbearable, so I'll simply do what I can to bear it. It hasn't been long since my last patch. I don't know what it will be like if we run out before Zeke gets more.

“Don't overdo it with Ruby,” Zero tells me as he settles at the table. “We've only got one patch left. We've got to make it last until Zeke goes to the Arena later this week.”

I turn from Zero and put together a cup of coffee for him – strong but with a hint of cream. Then I slide into the seat across from him with my own cup of tea and ask, “So he's set a date for the meeting?”

“Yes, with Vikram. He'll be taking me along to help him pick out another combat asset.”

“And then he'll let you start practicing again?” I ask hopefully, but he shrugs.

“Maybe. Or he might make me wait until we get the medical asset. He's planning a meeting with Ellaine for the week after Vikram. That means we'll have a week between getting the new combat asset and having the medical asset okay my hip for fighting.” Assuming Master Zeke can secure a medical asset, of course. It's telling that Zero doesn't even admit that as a possibility. “If Zeke is cautious about my health, I might have a week of watching the new combat asset train while I stand on the sidelines. It's not the worst thing that could happen, but...”

“But what?”

“Combat assets tend to be pushy. If I can't establish my place immediately...”

“It could be more difficult to establish later,” I guess. He nods. “Are all combat assets like that? I mean... You're not.”

“I was,” he responds. “Don’t you remember how I acted when you first came? Also, I'd had some time to adjust to Master Zeke's way of doing things, and I'm technically a pleasure asset now. None of these things are going to help with the new combat asset. It's likely that he'll only respect physical strength and mental cunning. I might...” he looks like a distasteful thought has occurred to him suddenly, “I might have to hurt him until he falls in line.”

“Surely there are decent combat assets?” I ask. “If Master takes you with him, could you try to find a good one? You're the expert in the combat field, he'll have to take your opinion.”

“It didn't count for much with Dodger,” he says dryly, “although I didn't push very hard there. If I'd known the situation, maybe I could have convinced him...” Zero's brow creases, lost in thought, then he shakes it off. “But it won't work this time anyway. Zeke needs an experienced combat asset, and the fighting tends to harden them. You have to create a mental barrier between your actions and your emotions, or you won't make it. I'm not...” he hesitates for a moment, struggling with the words. “I'm not like that anymore. In the Competition, you don't have to kill anyone, so I think I'll be alright. If I had to enter the pre-fight battles, though, I would probably have to kill at least one asset to be taken seriously. I'm not... I'm not sure I could do it.”

“You don't have to,” I assure him quickly, laying my hand over his. “Master has already said that you'll stay a pleasure asset until the Competition, right? Zero... it's not a bad thing that you don't want to be a killer any more.”

He shakes his head and makes a frustrated sound.

“It's not just that,” he admits. His hand turns over and laces his fingers with mine. His grip is tight, almost painful, but I know he's restraining himself. Given how frail I am, Zero could break me easily. “It's that I would try. If Zeke asked me to, if I had to do it to keep you safe and keep us both with him, I would try to kill. And I think I might fail. I'm not hardened like I was before. I'm emotional and...”

“Zero...”

“What if he asks me to kill for him?” he asks, and his voice is soft but the tone is practically desperate. “How can I fight for him when I don't understand him? How can I refuse when it might get you hurt?”

“Listen to me now,” I tell him firmly. “You are not responsible for his actions, and you are not responsible for my safety. You make the best decision you can and you live with it.” I squeeze his hand where it grips mine and soften my tone. “Doing the right thing isn't always easy or clear. Sometimes you just have to do what you can.”

He shuts his eyes and covers my hand with his other, never breaking our grip. For a moment, we sit in silence. Zero's eyes are squeezed shut, his brown creased like he's in pain. Then he abruptly shakes himself and pulls away from me. He finishes his coffee in a long sip.

“I'm sorry,” he says, quirking his lips in a half-smile. “I shouldn't put all this on you when you've already got so much on your plate with Ruby.” He ruffles my hair fondly, and I give a chuckle before pushing his hand away. “You should go lie down for a while,” he advises. “You're looking pale again.”

I stretch and push away from the table. The idea is tempting.

“I really should get a few more things set up,” I hedge. Zero rolls his eyes.

“You won't be any good to him exhausted. Go, and I'll clean up in here.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

He shrugs, but there's a bite of bitterness in his tone when he says, “At least I'll have something to occupy my time.”

“I still feel bad about you taking the blame like that,” I admit. “I never would have let you if I'd known.”

“That's why you were not informed of the plan,” Zero replies, then gives me a gentle shove toward the door. “It's not that bad. I can still do some weightlifting, which is probably what I'll do after this. Now go. You don't have time to stand around now that you're training again.”

“Mid-day naps I still have time for,” I grumble, my lips quirked in a smile as I take my exit, “but not talking. That makes sense.”

I hear Zero's chuckle follow me into the hall until the door shuts behind me and cuts off the noise. Once alone, I let the smile fade from my face. I'm so tired. Why am I always tired all the time? Even now that the last migraine has faded, I just can't seem to get my strength back. And who knows when the next migraine will begin? I can hope for the sake of our dwindling supply that it gives me some time before the next wave, but they seem to be coming more frequently now. If I run out of pain-patches to deal with them...

I choose a bed on the same floor as Ruby because there doesn't seem to be much of a point in traveling to the upper floors. Zero and I still sleep in Master Zeke's bed at night, but... Well, somehow it still feels like I'm sleeping in Master's room, not like I belong there. When Master Zeke slept with us in the rooms on the bottom floor, there was more of a sense of belonging. Then again, everything was different back then. Everything was smaller and we were closer together, when there was just the three of us. Now things are changing and expanding at such an accelerated rate, that I wonder how long it will be before things get out of hand. If they aren't already.

I practically fall into the small bed, barely taking time to toe off my shoes. My clothes will be wrinkled when I wake, but I think I can be forgiven the slip in standards. Owner Carmé never would have let me get away with it, of course, but I don't think Master Zeke will call me out if my appearance isn't immaculate. Lying down in the bed, exhaustion hits me suddenly and I'm surprised by how tired I am when I stop long enough to feel it. Have I been ignoring my body's demands so long that it's become second nature? Would I have made it through this evening if Zero hadn't demanded that I take a nap? Or would I have pushed myself too far and brought on another debilitating migraine?

My worries are deep but short-lived, as I find myself falling asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.

When I wake, it's like swimming up from a deep pool. I wake slowly, my body feeling heavy. My eyes are grainy and I rub at them, trying to get my vision to clear. I sit up like an old man, feeling my limbs protest the movement. I'm surprised that I slept so deeply, given that I only napped for...

I glance at the clock by the bedside and gasp with the sudden realization that I never set an alarm. It's mid-evening already, meaning that I slept for hours and it's well past the time I wanted to start dinner. Thankfully I planned on an easy meal tonight to start training Ruby, but I'll still have to rush to be ready in time.

I shove myself out of bed and tilt dizzily for a moment before finding my feet. My body protests the sudden movement, but I ignore it. I stumble into the bathroom and throw some water on my face before putting my shoes on and heading into the hall. As I head to Ruby's room I force a smile onto my face, then wrap once on the door before entering with a cheerful, “Are you ready to help me with dinner?”

But the room I find is empty.

I take one single, panicked breath, then I force myself to calm. We're in the middle of space. How far could he have gotten?

I go to the wall panel and ping the gym – I remember Zero saying that he might lift weights later on, so I can only hope he hasn't changed his plans. I don't really have time to search for him. Thankfully, Zero answers a moment later, his voice breathy like he's been breathing heavily.

“I can't find Ruby,” I tell him, trying to keep the worry out of my voice.

“Give me a minute,” he responds evenly, and I hear him tapping the screen. I don't have access to the ship's security feeds, but Zero does. A moment later he comes back. “Ruby and Master Zeke are both in the med-bay. It looks like they've been there for about half an hour. Nothing appears to be wrong. Do you want me to meet you down there?”

“No,” I assure him, although part of me would like Zero for backup. The part of me that's still panicking about Ruby being gone, specifically. “I'm sure Master Zeke just needed to speak with Ruby.” Why, though? And why wait until now? “I'll call you if there are any problems.”

Zero never says goodbye, so the line abruptly disconnects. I close down the screen and then hurry toward the hanger, as the med-bay is on the far side of it. I feel stupid for the urgency, but at the same time I can't shake the feeling that something is off. I force myself not to run, but I find myself walking at a brisk pace anyway. I cross the hanger at a fast trot. When I get to the door of the med-bay, I can't bring myself to knock and wait to be admitted. I hit the button for the door, thankful to find that it's not locked.

The scene I find inside isn't immediately disturbing. Master Zeke is sitting on one of the wheeled chairs, his elbow on one of the counters, leaning his head against his fist and giving Ruby a puzzled, perplexed look. Ruby is in one of the beds, seemingly asleep. The clothes I gave him are neatly folded on the bedside table, but there don't appear to be any signs of struggle. His hair is gone and that's... bizarre. What the hell? But it doesn't appear immediately malicious, I guess. There are a few stray red curls on the floor and I can only assume that Master Zeke shaved the boy's head for some reason. Why in the world would he do that? Why in here? Why at all? Ruby isn't lined up to be a pleasure asset, so the removal of his hair won't affect his value, but... Why?

And then... He's so still. I can see the rise and fall of his bare chest, so I know he's still breathing, but there's something off about it. I think it’s how still he is. Unnaturally still for sleeping in the early evening, in a strange place, in a room he's never been in before and with the lights fully on.

He looks like he's sleeping, though. He has to be sleeping.

“Wha... What's going on?” I ask hesitantly. Master Zeke glances my way and gives a tired sigh.

“I wanted to give Ruby an exam,” he tells me. “Since he's so new, I just wanted to... look him over.”

Look him over for what? But I don't voice the question out loud. Instead, I say, “Oh.” And then, “Did you give him a sedative?”

“No, I just...” Master gestures vaguely with his hand, “...gave a command for it.”

I still, shocked. He can't mean...

“You blacked him?” I blurt, alarmed and forgetting that he might not know the jargon.

“I...” Master says, blinking at me in confusion. “I'm not sure?”

“Did you give a sensory deactivation command?” I clarify quickly.

“Yes,” he says defensively. “I thought it would be easier for him...”

“Wake him up!” I snap, already moving toward Ruby's immobile form. What the hell was he thinking?

“I just...” he tries to defend, but we don't have time for that.

“Wake him up right now!” I yell, taking position at Ruby's side and putting my hands on his shoulders.

“Alright!” Master growls in reply. “Ruby, rescind sensory deactivation.”

As expected, Ruby surges awake with a scream of pure panic. He thrashes against me, his hands reaching for his face but I pin his arms. Vision is the last sense to come back, and assets have been known to hurt themselves scratching at their eyes.

“You're alright!” I yell over his scream. “You're alright! I've got you. You're going to be fine.”

The wail trails off into shuddering sobs, and suddenly he turns and wraps himself around me. This, too, is not unexpected. Assets who have been blacked will often reach for the closest person – anything to remind them that they're not alone anymore.

“I didn't...” Master says, and his face is pale and shocked. “What happened?”

“You blacked him,” I snarl, then reign in my temper. It was an honest mistake, if a very, very stupid one.

“It wasn't supposed to hurt him!” he argues, but there's a horrified tone to his voice. “It was just supposed to make him unconscious.”

“Not unconscious,” I correct at a growl. “Just unable to move or see or hear or feel. Like being in a deep black hole that you can't get out of. Assets have been known to go insane if left in the black too long.”

“I...” he hesitates, looking between me and Ruby with a panicked, guilt-stricken stare. “I didn't know.”

Then he leaves.

Ugh.

That’s helpful. Thanks Zeke.

But Ruby is still crying in my lap and I don't have time to be angry at Zeke. I pull Ruby in closer and rub his back. He clings to my waist, burying his face in my stomach. His breath comes in sobbing little gasps, his shoulders shaking with the effort. At this rate, it'll take hours for him to calm down.

There go my lesson plans.

“Why did he do that?” Ruby asks in a tremulous voice.

“I don't know,” I reply gently, running my hands over his... scalp. What the hell was Zeke trying to do? He wanted to examine Ruby... for what? Shaving his head... was he looking for evidence of the chip insertion? But why? Why would he want to know that? My thoughts race. Could he be trying to find a way to remove the chip? Or trying to find a way to replicate them? If I hadn't interrupted, what would he have done to Ruby to try to find out? Would he have cut the boy open? Rooted around in his head trying to find it?

What is he doing? And will it get us all killed?

“I was being complacent!” Ruby sobs. “I wasn't doing anything! I was gonna follow him somewhere private and then club him over the head, but I never even made a move!”

We're not going to tell Zero that part, I decide as I rub my hand over Ruby's back.

“I know,” I tell him softly.

“It just came out of nowhere. That fucking shit-stain called my name and then he said something about deactivation, and suddenly it's all black and I can't move and I can't scream and...” he dissolves into hysterical sobbing.

I rock him gently, knowing there's nothing I can say to make it any better. He'll tire himself out eventually, but I can't help thinking that Master Zeke has certainly set us back a long way. After today, Ruby may never trust any of us, and certainly not Zeke.

And the other part... God, I don't even know what to think.

Eventually, Ruby is calm enough for me to lead back down to his room. He shakes the whole way, leaning on me for support. What little support I can give, considering I'm still exhausted and the stress of finding Ruby in such a state has given me another migraine. We trudge down the hall together, with both of us shuffling as best we can. I know that Zero won't want to give me another pain-patch so soon, but the migraine is building quickly and I'm afraid that it might overwhelm me.

By the time I get Ruby back into his room and leave him huddled under the blankets, my vision is blurred and the ache in my head is excruciating. I fight to get myself under control. My body is still surging with adrenaline and it makes me woozy. I tilt dangerously to the side, using the wall for balance. I just need to lie down. All this stress lately, my body just can't seem to handle it. My head pounds, and I'd really like nothing more than to lie down on the carpet for a minute, but I really need to start on dinner. I trudge forward, but a surge of pain steals my balance and sends me crashing to my knees. I lean my head against the wall as the world tilts dizzily. I fold my hands in my lap and focus on my breathing. For a time, everything just seems to fall away.

When I finally rouse, it's to the sound of dripping. Something splashes onto the back of my hand and I blink, trying to remember where I am. Did I fall asleep in the shower? But... no. I'm still in the hallway. I glance at my hand, and then spend several more seconds staring at it stupidly.

There's a stream of blood on the back of my hands and running down the sides, even onto my folded legs. I follow the trail up my wrists to the front of my shirt, until it disappears under my chin. Suddenly I can taste blood in my mouth, can feel it drying on my lips. I reach up and touch my face. My hand comes away wet with blood. I gasp and stumble to my feet. All the rooms in this hall are unoccupied except the one that Ruby's in. I scramble for the door closest to me and practically fall into the room. I stumble to the bathroom and stare into the mirror.

“It's okay,” I pant in a shaking voice. My fingers tremble as they touch my face. “It's just a nose-bleed. It's fine. People have nose-bleeds every day. No big deal.”

I say it several times, but I can't seem to make myself believe it.

Eventually, the taste of stale blood in my mouth is too much and I wretch. I wash my mouth out with water from the sink. I leave bloody fingerprints all over the white ceramic knobs, and then I have to wipe those off as well. I shrug out of my clothes and leave the soiled linens in a pile on the floor. I force myself into the shower, all the while trying to calm my rapid heartbeat. I wash the blood away quickly, watching as the pink-tinged water flows down the drain.

By the time I get out, I actually... I actually feel a little better. Looking at myself in the mirror, I look pale and tired, but no worse than I did earlier today. If I hurry – if I hide these bloody clothes and hurry down the hall to change – no one would even know this happened. I could blame dinner’s lateness on Ruby. I doubt Zeke would have it in him to scold me, if he shows up to dinner at all. And Zero never comes until I call him, so no one would be the wiser. I mean... I feel fine. Or at least, as fine as I did this morning. As fine as I ever do anymore.

“What does this mean?” I whisper desperately to myself. “What's happening to me?”

But there's no answer for that until we get the medical asset. Even Zero, who would throw himself in front of a blast for me, can't help me with this. I realize with a sudden, chilling clarity that I can't tell Zero. If he finds out I'm worse, he'll do something desperate to ensure that Zeke buys a medical asset. He might even hurt himself. I can't be responsible for that. I just can't.

And I realize that I can't let anyone find out about this. Especially not Zero.

Even if it kills me.


	20. A Problem at BloodSports - Zeke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuuuugh. I am sick enough that all I really want to do is lay around and watch TV, but not sick enough to actually take a day off, you know? So I am way behind on responding to reviews, and I apologize sincerely. I am going to try to respond this afternoon. This chapter is a little bit shorter than usual - I was trying to add some length but I just couldn't manage with being exhausted all week. There will be a longer chapter next week. I should be over this cold by then. Thanks for being patient with me!
> 
> As always, betas are the absolute best. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. I couldn't do it without them!

Bloodsports Arena is almost exactly what I expected it to be. A mammoth, high-domed main area, exposed down to the metallic bones of the Satellite. The cavernous area makes the shouts and grunts of pain echo, creating a din of noise that's hard to walk through. The place reeks of stale sweat and dried blood. Chain-link fences divide the areas, and there is a center pit where the men are fighting. In other areas, the fencing separates the resting fighters from wealthy patrons like animals in cages.

Zero trails at my heels, close without touching. His eyes dart warily, but he seems more relaxed than he did at the Line. Perhaps trained killers don't threaten him as much as leering owners. Zero is dressed in modest clothing for this outing; a loose, black tank top, casual jeans, and black combat boots. Despite the way the top shows off the tight muscles of his arms, he doesn't strike a threatening image amongst all these hardened fighters. Still, I see some of the caged assets give him a wary glance as he passes. His reputation as a zero must speak for itself.

This section, as I was made aware of when arriving, is exclusively for Leash participants. I know that there are other sections of BloodSports where consensual, competitive fighting takes place, but in this area I can assume that everyone on the wrong side of the fence is a prisoner. Owners gather in small groups flanked by standing or kneeling assets of their own. It's easy to tell the difference between owners and assets not just from the quality and quantity of clothing, but by the collars that the assets are wearing. Similar to the black ring that hangs around Zero's neck, all of the assets appear to be wearing collars of various colors and thicknesses.

I pause near one of the cages and Zero has to stop abruptly, nearly bumping into my back. I know that he's distracted today. Kip stayed in bed this morning claiming exhaustion. Although he blamed it on staying up too late, I can't help but think that taking care of Ruby might be more than Kip can handle. On top of Zero's worry for Kip, I think his hip must be bothering him. He reminded me twice this morning about getting more pain-patches. I worry that he's developing a dependence on them, considering his hip is still bothering him despite being banned from working. However, until we have a medical asset to help me explore other pain-management options, I'm hesitant to ban Zero from the only painkiller that works for him.

Ultimately, I'm here looking for pain-patches and a second combat asset. I take a moment to glance around at the assets nearest me. The caged combat assets are all sporting thick, green collars denoting their status as for-sale. Similar to the pleasure assets when I got Kip, each of the combat assets have a numbered tag hanging from his collar to make identifying him easier. None of the free roaming assets have a number, but they're also all much slimmer and more diminutive than the assets in the holding cells. I think it's safe to assume that the loose assets are pleasure or domestic slaves owned by the patrons of this arena. Most of the domestic and pleasure assets have black collars on, although I spot a couple green circlets in the group. The only red collars I see are worn by a handful of caged combat assets, signifying that they have been or will be entered into the Competition this year. These assets are kept separate from the general populace and seem to be in somewhat better shape than the rest – cleaner and healthier.

Without lingering too long, I move determinedly on past the holding pens, heading toward the central arena. My main goal is to meet up with Vikram and negotiate the price on a combat asset and the drugs, so while I want to appear interested in his fighters, I also don't want to appear that I've settled on a specific asset.

We reach the center fighting area and I pause again, this time leaning on the railing that keeps owners from tripping into the fighting pit below. Although only about six feet deep, the lowered area is large enough around for the thirty or so fighters that are brawling below. I can see fighters scuffling en masse in some kind of melee fight. Of the combatants, several are already bruised and dirty and a few more are laying face-down in the black sand that covers the arena floor. Dead? It's hard to tell. The sand hides just how much blood is being spilled - maybe its purpose is to absorb the liquid so the fight can continue. As bad as the downed fighters look, if they aren't dead already, then they likely will be if they don't get medical attention soon.

I gesture for Zero to come to the rail beside me. He bows his head and then moves beside me, close enough that our sides are touching. I put my hand on his shoulder, trying to make it look like I want him near instead of wanting his advice. If I'm still trying to claim that Zero is a pleasure asset and keep him out of battling for now, I have to be cautious on how much I appear to lean on him for combat advice. Zero leans his head on my shoulder, easily picking up the ruse, but I see his eyes scan the battleground with interest. I can't really gauge the merit of these fighters in the melee, but it doesn't appear that Zero has the same problem. After a moment, he whispers, “These are all new assets. Some of them have pretty good instincts, but the rest are a total wash. You're probably looking to purchase someone with more training than these, especially if you want them to train with me instead of having me teach them. I could really use a sparring partner.”

“I'm sure the shadow dummy would appreciate you having someone else to beat up on,” I whisper back to him, trying to make it seem like we're exchanging sweet nothings. It's an easy choice for cover, and I realize suddenly how much I've missed this closeness with Zero. Even the feel of his pliant body against me is so familiar and yet it feels like it's been forever since I've touched him like this. When did we get so distant? But I don't have time to think on that now, in the midst of all this violence. Later.

I give a small nod and then kiss the top of his head. He allows it without protest, then shifts away from me. I can tell that our surroundings, while not actually making Zero nervous, have him in a mood that is less than submissive. If it weren't for that hip, it seems like he might be eager for a fight. Then again, this isn't the first time that he's complained that he needs another person to spar with if I want his skills to improve instead of atrophy. After the one time Zero and I sparred, I'm embarrassed to say that I don't even offer myself as a combat partner – my skills in hand-to-hand are so far below Zero's that it's almost laughable.

I realize that, unfortunately, I'm probably going to have to put out a decent bit of money to get a combat asset with any chance of holding his own against Zero. But will I still have enough to get a medical asset from Ellaine? Which is more important, fixing Zero's hip or getting him an asset to spar with? Zero can't compete without getting his shattered hip looked at, but he isn't a strong contender if his skills atrophy from disuse. I would also still need a second combat asset to keep from taking a loss in that category. Can I ask Zero to fight on that hip? Can I get a less-skilled medic and hope that he can find the problem?

I sigh heavily and turn away from the pit, leaning my back heavily against the railing. I suppose I'll just have to find out what I can from Vikram and see if there's any way to negotiate. I scan the crowd for the blonde Dealer, wondering if I should send him a message or if he'll just come find me. He knows I'm here from my ship’s check-in, but our plans were otherwise a little vague.

It's by pure chance that as I'm scanning the crowd for Vikram I notice a head covered in fuzzy red hair weaving through the edges of the crowd, trying to look unnoticeable but drawing several glances with his unusual haircut.

“Uh oh,” I whisper, and it has Zero spinning on his heels. “How did he get here?”

“Shit,” Zero curses, and I can't call the look on his face anything but horrified.

Ruby is not naked, at least. He's still wearing Zero's somewhat ill-fitting hand-me-downs. His green eyes dart warily around the yard, his fists clenched in determination. There's a dusting of red hair on his head, the amount that has managed to grow in the three days since I shaved it. He's wearing a black collar, so at least that part blends in. His shoes must have been pilfered from Kip, since they're sneakers instead of combat boots.

“Lovely,” I comment dryly. I know I should be horrified, but for some reason all I can feel is annoyed. I mean, really. What else can go wrong?

“Master?” Zero questions, and I can tell from his tone that he  _ is _ upset. Possibly because Ruby is here, threatening to make a mess of things, and possibly because Zero should have caught the stowaway, but he was too distracted by Kip and his own pain. It's too late to do anything about it now, though.

“Can you get him somewhere private without making a scene?”

“Not the ship,” he counters.

“No, let me talk to him.” During the past week, Ruby has proven emotional and high-strung, but not irrational. Maybe I can salvage this without having to black him and have Zero drag his limp body back to the ship. I know that I can control Ruby’s chip with my Key, but I'm hesitant to put Ruby in that position again. Especially after learning the traumatic effects of the chip last time... I still can't think about it without cringing. Trust the Leash to take something that seems innocent and utilitarian and make it a punishment.

“This way,” Zero says, leading me through the crowd, “I know a place.”

I follow Zero, trusting him even though I have no idea what he's planning. He leads me toward one of the cages the assets are kept in, and I notice for the first time that only the front is fenced, the back is a solid sheet of metal. Zero leads me into a narrow aisle between the backs of two cages, then waits for Ruby to walk past. There's enough space for me to reach my arms out without touching the walls, but no more than that. I step back into the shadows as Zero crouches by the entrance. When Ruby walks past, Zero snatches his arm and yanks him into the narrow space with us. The high cages create dim shadows, and there are boxes and dumpsters and other debris that isn't present in the main area. I realize, as Zero pulls Ruby behind a stack of boxes and covers his mouth before he can scream, that we're pretty well camouflaged back here.

“Don't make a sound,” Zero warns. Ruby's eyes are wide and frightened, but he nods his head. He's quiet as Zero pulls his hand away, staring at the both of us with miserable disappointment. His eyes come to me, awaiting my decision, but I pause. What am I going to do about this?

Instead, I ask Zero, “How did you know about this place?”

Surprised, Zero hesitates, then says, “I told you that my last owner sold drugs here. I became familiar with the layout while I was assisting in deliveries.”

“Ah,” I respond. It's so easy to forget that Zero has had a life before me. He speaks so little about it, sometimes it's easy to start thinking that he was created solely to assist me. “And you,” I say, turning my attention to the still-pinned Ruby. My fingers dip under the collar fastened around his neck and I lift it just enough to pull on Ruby's skin. “How did you know to put a collar on?” I wonder. After all, he's only been around Kip and Zero, and neither of them wear collars on the ship.

“They were wearing them when you first got me,” Ruby points out. He swallows hard, his eyes shifting between me and Zero, still obviously anticipating a punishment. “So I asked Kip about them. He explained the colors. Then I knew to sneak into his room and take the black one.”

If an expression could do violence, Zero would be murdering the young ginger. Unfortunately, the best he can manage in our given situation is to glower hatefully at Ruby.

“I see,” I reply with a sigh. “And where did you manage to stow away for the ride here?”

Ruby casts another wary glance at Zero, who still has him pinned by the arm and throat. The angry glare must not deter Ruby, because he says, “There’s a storage compartment under the seats in the back. I curled up there this morning when I realized that I wasn’t going to have lessons with Kip. I thought I might get caught when I didn’t show up on the security feeds, but…”

But Zero was so preoccupied that he didn’t check them. We realize this at the same time, and Zero tightens his grip with a growl until Ruby lets out a pained noise.

“Enough,” I chide, and Zero loosens his grip but his expression doesn’t lose any fury. 

So not only is he a handful, but he's a sneak-thief as well. I sigh. I really don’t need this today. 

“Can you just take him back to the ship?” I ask Zero.

“How am I supposed to do that without him making a scene?” Zero growls. “It's not going to be any less obvious if I knock him out, either.”

“No, please,” Ruby says, and he leans against Zero's hands where he's being pinned. “Let me stay!”

“Why would I do that? What possible benefit could there be to me?”

“I won't make a scene,” Ruby promises. “Please. You guys said this is where they take the fighters? This is where Red is. Please, just let me look for him.”

“There's no point,” I growl. “I'm not buying him, so if you find him you'll just throw a tantrum.”

“I won't!” he promises and it's almost a shout. Zero's hand tightens on Ruby's neck, ready to cut off his air if he makes too much noise. “I just need to know he's okay. Please! There's no good way to get me out of here without being...” he fishes for the word, probably uncertain of why I need to worry about how it looks. I doubt that he realizes the expectations of a wealthy social circle like this one. He finishes with, “... embarrassed.” Which is actually pretty close to accurate. “So just take me with you. If I start to cause a scene, you can just...” he hesitates again, then swallows and says, “You can just use that thing to put me in the darkness again.” There's a quiver in his voice and he's obviously afraid, but he pushes through. “It won't really matter if you do it then or now, right? And you can say you brought me, but I got too upset. Please. I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want. Just... Just let me look for him.”

I hesitate for several long moments. Long enough that Zero sighs and says, “You can't be seriously considering this.”

“He's right,” I counter. “We're better off taking him for a little bit and then acting like he got overwhelmed.”

“You don't have any reason to bring a domestic asset here,” he growls. “He has no purpose in this place.”

That's a good point. I know there are other domestics around, but they all seem to be carrying something or doing something. What reason do I have to bring an untrained domestic with me?

“He'll have to play a pleasure asset,” I reply. I see Ruby pale. “He hasn't been registered yet. If anyone asks later, we can just say that he didn't work out in pleasure.” I turn to Ruby. “That's the best offer you're going to get. Come with us, keep your head down, and pretend to be a pleasure asset. Or I black you right now and Zero drags you back to the ship.”

I don't mention that the second option will certainly attract unwanted attention to me. If anyone recognizes Ruby from his red hair and connects him to my newest asset, they could realize that I can't keep control of my untamed asset. That could do serious damage to my reputation, so I'd rather avoid it if I can.

Ruby swallows hard and closes his eyes for a moment. Then he takes a shuddering breath and pins me with hard, determined green eyes.

“I'll do anything you say,” he promises. “Just let me find my brother.”


	21. Meeting with Vikram - Zero POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am on the mend, although as predicted this cold has lingered longer than I was hoping. This chapter is pretty long, which is good because I am not prepared for next week, so no guarantees. :( Otherwise, no real updates on my end. Hope you like the new chapter!
> 
> As always, betas are the absolute best. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. I couldn't do it without them!

“I can't believe we're doing this,” I mutter as we leave the seclusion of the ally.

“Well, we are, so deal with it.”

I grind my teeth in frustration. Ruby trails behind us in quiet but smug satisfaction. He sticks out like a sore thumb here, and I can't believe Master is rewarding him for being a little shit. We both know that he's only here to find his brother, and he's likely to pull another stunt if we find him.

The worst part is that, despite my protests, I really don't have a better plan. Blacking Ruby with the chip and carrying him out is an option, but it's going to draw a lot of attention, especially since people noticed Ruby walking in. Seeing a half-bald asset walk one direction past the cages and then seeing his unconscious form getting carried the other direction less than two minutes later will definitely make people talk. If Zeke is trying to make a good impression on Vikram, then that would probably be a bad idea.

I just want to kick his ass. Honestly, how stupid can he be? And how fucking dumb was I to forget to check the cargo holds before we left? But Kip had another migraine this morning, and we've been out of pain-patches for two days now. Seeing him too weak and pained to get out of bed... It scared me. Scared me enough that I wasn't thinking about anything except this mission, and I totally forgot about Ruby.

Damn it. If he screws this up...

“He's not trained as a pleasure asset,” I point out. “He's not going to know what to do if someone wants to use him.”

“I think I can keep it from coming to that,” Master assures me. I hope he's right, because by this point we're too close to the center of the square to turn back. Ruby is obviously with us and the other owners can see it. I catch a couple of them glancing our way with curious stares. Ruby keeps his head down, obviously uncomfortable with the attention.

Almost immediately, Zeke finds Vikram. The taller blonde smiles and waves a hand to my owner, and Zeke moves to meet him. Vikram greets Zeke with a firm handshake and a hand on Zeke's shoulder. I tense as I watch them, keeping an eye out for any aggressive moves, but Vikram seems to be genuinely excited to meet with Master Zeke.

“Apologies for being late,” he says as the exuberant greeting ends. “We had a new shipment of assets come in and I wanted to see the stock before they go up for sale. Please, come this way. We'll sit in the lounge and chat. It has the best view of the fighting ground.”

This is not the first time I've been to BloodSports Arena. My last owner visited frequently during his drug-trafficking operations. He seemed to enjoy the atmosphere of misery and desperation, and we often spent hours longer than the jobs required. Sometimes he would watch battles and gamble. Early on, he would set me up in matches until Petir had banned outside zeros from fighting. My owner had been pissed, although the ban had not been aimed at him in particular. At the time, I had no opinion of this place, although now it fills me with a thick, lingering sense of despair. I hear a scream of pain from the pit and give a slow blink to steady myself.

The viewing area for the pit is not where most owners would expect it. They seem to look for it to be close to the edge or even high above the pit. So when Vikram leads Master Zeke to a wide stairway set in the floor, I catch a note of hesitation before Zeke picks his way down the staircase and into the darkness below. I follow behind, wishing that I'd thought to warn him about the below-ground seating.

The stairs lead us into a dimly lit seating area reminiscent of a night club. There's a long, dark-wood bar to the left side, along with a wall of bottles stacked behind it. The right side of the hall has a floor to ceiling viewing window that stretches the length of the room and looks out onto the battleground of the pit. Most of the fights involving assets at BloodSports take place in this central area to allow owners easy viewing for purchase or betting purposes. One-on-one matches between privately owned assets and BloodSports assets are common, but I can tell from the amount of assets in the pit that today’s battle is a melee. It’s likely that Vikram is testing the skills of his new shipment of assets - that’s the usual reason for this type of fight. 

Master Zeke’s eyes go to the viewing window, and I have to admit that it is an arresting sight. There are currently at least five assets battling in the sand that covers the pit’s floor, throwing cascades of black dust as they grapple for footing. None of the assets look toward us, and I’m aware that it’s because there’s nothing to see from that side. The window is mirrored so that owners can see out but assets can’t see in, then covered on the arena-side in a plexiglass barrier to keep the assets from smashing it. From in the arena, it just looks like a gray, reflective wall.

I pull my gaze away from the fights. The room is longer than it is wide, and follows the gentle curve of the pit. Most of the tables are lined along the glass viewing wall, although there is some center seating as well. There is a solid wall at the far end, which divides this area from the pit’s entrance and triage area on the other side. 

Vikram leads Master Zeke to a booth toward the back – fairly private and secluded, although the room is sparsely occupied at this time. I let the owners slide in first, then I slip into the cramped quarters underneath the table. The tabletop is the same glass-style we saw at the Line, giving me a view of Zeke and Vikram, but also forgoing any kind of cover for Ruby and myself. Instead of having legs, the tabletop is supported by a bracket running along the window and bolted into the floor, thankfully because I'm not sure there would be room for two of us if we had to contend with the table legs as well. Ruby hesitates behind me and I suppress the urge to kick him in the shin. Finally he slides under the table, trying to keep his distance from me, but it's almost impossible in the narrow space. I repress a growl as his knee presses on my hand. I want to give him a shove, but I have to remember that the tabletop is clear glass, so Vikram and Zeke can both see what I'm doing.

A domestic asset brings two bottles of beer to the table. I tense, and then force myself to relax. Vikram isn't the type to poison or drug someone, and I'm not eating in any case. If something were to happen to Zeke, I would be able to react.

I take a moment to glance up through the glass at the two owners above me. On the surface, they're similar - both blond and blue-eyed, athletic and attractive. But it's a shallow similarity and the contrasts are more striking. Vikram's hair is a dark blonde, cut short around his face in a style that looks almost hacked off in a haphazard manner, although it's probably a designer haircut. Master Zeke has long, golden-blonde locks that fall past his shoulders in a glossy mass. With their eyes, Vikram has a darker, almost gray-blue color, while Master Zeke has clear, icy blue eyes. In body-type, Vikram has the broad, muscular shoulders of a weightlifter, while Master has the narrow build of a runner. Even in clothing they differ, with Vikram dressed in a plain shirt, tight fitting cargo pants, and cargo boots. Meanwhile, Master Zeke is in a stylish blue button-down, slim gray pants, and black dress shoes. It's like a dock-worker sitting down to lunch with a model.

Master takes a sip of his beer and makes a noise of surprise, pulling it away from his lips to look at the bottle. I tense again, because I suppose Vikram could have branched out into other methods of killing, but Master doesn't seem injured or in distress. Vikram gives a chuckle.

“I must be honest,” he says, “I did not warn you because I wanted to see your honest reaction. I consider myself something of an amateur brewer. This is our newest specialty beer. You seem to enjoy it.”

“It's very good,” Master compliments. He seems almost on edge about this meeting. Could it be because our meeting with Vikram's uncle, Petir, did not go well? Then again, I've also heard rumors that Petir hasn't been seen since he met with Master Zeke. Could Zeke be worrying that Vikram will hold a grudge?

In the reflection of the table, I can see the backwards label of the bottle.  _ Bjorn Black Brew _ is scrawled in simple white lettering on the clear label, with no other information. Inside the bottle, the liquid looks like ink despite the light trying to penetrate it. In a clear glass, it must look as black as the name promises.

Master takes another slow sip, this time seeming to reflect on the flavor.

“It's sweeter than I would expect from something this dark,” Master admits. “There's a nice undertone of licorice and molasses. There's a bit of an earthy flavor, and it blends well with the spices. Cinnamon and anise, if I'm not mistaken. It's smooth and just a bit thick, but it leaves a pleasantly sweet flavor in my mouth afterwards.”

“Spoken like a true food-critic,” Vikram teases, but there's a pleased smile on his face as he takes another sip of his own beer.

“Is it a family recipe?” Master asks.

“No,” Vikram starts, but hesitates as a pair of fighters slam into the glass beside us, hard enough that I can hear a small impact as their bodies collide. One of them slams his head against the glass, leaving a smear of blood that seemingly hangs in mid-air. Beside me, Ruby whimpers quietly. Any louder, and I'd be concerned about getting Vikram's attention, but Ruby gets himself under control quickly. I have to wonder what he'll do if we actually find his brother here. I can't imagine he'll keep his reaction under control then.

“Like I was saying,” Vikram continues, “it's not really a family recipe, although it is based on one. Carmé traded me one of his domestics for a pair of bodyguards.” He hesitates a moment, then gives Zeke a grin and says, “I heard you managed to get one of Carmé's favorite trainers off of him.”

“Purely by chance,” Master responds. “Carmé had already given up on him. I found him at Reynard's and picked him up as a pleasure asset.”

Sometimes I still wonder how much of all this has happened by chance. If Kip didn't look so similar to the techs who raised me, would I still have forgotten myself and spoken to him? Would Master Zeke still have noticed him that day? Or would he have died in the harem, unnoticed?

Will he still die? Did I actually prevent that fate? Or just... delay it?

“He seemed to be doing well enough at the party,” Vikram comments. “I met with Carmé before I left and he mentioned how much better the asset seemed.”

“Did he?” Master replies idly, like it's not a big deal that the dealers were talking about him. “Carmé seems to think that I should compete him as a domestic, but I'm not so sure.”

Master doesn't mention that Kip has been sickly and weak as of late, and he has no idea just how bad Kip's health has gotten lately. This morning, I couldn't even get him out of bed. Without any pain-patches to mitigate his symptoms, his migraines have returned even worse than before. I can only hope that Master manages to get a scholar from Ellaine soon, or I might have to do something drastic to get Kip help.

Something like telling Zeke just how sick Kip is? Do I have any other options that won't get the both of us killed? This subterfuge was to protect Kip from Master, but now I feel like it's only prolonging the inevitable. How much longer can we keep this up?

“If Carmé thinks he's a strong asset, then you can bank on it. He's got nearly impossible standards for his domestics and his methods always get results.” Carmé’s methods, which left Kip terrified of failure and weakness and gave him a fear of sex so ingrained that even Master Zeke could barely overcome it. “You will be entering the Competition this year, won't you? You should enter him.”

Master takes another casual sip of his beer and then says, “I haven't really made up my mind. It seems like an awfully big investment when I've only just started acquiring assets.”

From under the table, I can see Vikram smile mildly in response, but I can also see him shift forward in his seat, taking a subtle interest in the conversation. He's suspicious, but he only says, “You certainly wouldn't be the first to try it. Your zero would be a strong contender. Maybe we can have a little match with him?”

I tense. Beside me, Ruby looks at my face, but I keep my eyes on Zeke's black leather shoes. I told him once that I would not kill again, that I would rather die than be put back into the role of a killer. I have no illusions that Vikram's fighters will fight until I kill them – any experienced enough to be put against me knows that death is preferable to the punishment that awaits them after defeat. I made a promise to die instead of becoming a killer again. Do I still mean it? Even if my death would mean Kip's as well?

“Zero is a pleasure asset,” Master corrects. “He's not a fighter.”

I feel relief wash over me, although I know that Vikram won't give up that easily.

Vikram gives a little chuckle and says, “You can't expect me to believe that? Not with a zero. And why else would you bring him here but to let him scope out the competition?”

Vikram is not stupid. He knows why Master brought me, and probably has a good idea of the game Master is playing. He just can't figure out a way around it, yet.

“I brought both of my pleasure assets, as you can see,” Master says with a nod of his head toward Ruby and me. “I just like having them around.”

Vikram peers through the tabletop and frowns, his eyes settling on Ruby.

“What happened to his hair?”

Yes. Please explain that, Master. Just what the hell you were doing when you shaved his entire head and made it obvious that you were looking for an injection site for the chip. No, no. That doesn't look suspicious at all. Perfectly normal.

But what was the intent? After Kip relayed what happened, we both pondered what he could have been doing by shaving Ruby's head, but to no avail. Knowing the injection site would only help if he was intending to tamper with the chip. But for what purpose? The obvious conclusion is removal, but that doesn’t make sense either. The removal process would most likely damage the asset beyond repair, and would probably compromise the chip as well. So it's not like it could be retrieved intact. So what's the point? Without knowing Master Zeke's true motives, there's no real way to guess.

“Oh, that was a discipline that, I must admit, I got a little overzealous with,” he covers easily. He gives a charming smile and a little shrug, like it's no big deal. Damn, he's a good liar. Did he plan that for a cover, or make it up as he went? “I wanted to stifle his ego a bit, but I didn't think about how odd he would look while it grows back. I suppose it'll help keep him humble, though.”

“I can't abide a willful asset,” Vikram agrees. “I usually suggest a good beating to get it out of their system, but I suppose it isn't an option with these frail little pleasure slaves. Where's the other one? The blonde that you got from Carmé?”

“I worked him a bit too hard last night,” Master lies again. That one could have been planned, as we'd intended Kip to stay behind with Ruby. “I didn't want to be trailing a limping asset all day.”

“Delicate things, aren't they?” Vikram asks. “That's why I fuck the combat assets. You don't have to worry about them whining afterwards. I'm sure your zero is much the same.”

“I have no complaints about Zero. He's been...”

Master is cut off when another body thuds into the barrier next to us. The man – young, broad-shouldered, and terrified – sprawls on the ground by our table. Another man approaches, this one older and more heavily muscled. The younger man pushes himself to his feet, but the heavier man grabs him by one arm and whips him around, throwing him so that he tumbles into the middle of the ring. His head cracks against the bare floor where the sand has been kicked away during another struggle, and the area darkens with blood. He stays down after that, and I see a pair of assets move in to drag him out. With him gone, that leaves seven assets in the pit: five untrained assets and two trainers. A few seconds later, another terrified young asset is shoved through the gate on the other side.

Through the table, I can see Vikram watching avidly. This is a ritual for BloodSports. New assets have to fight the trainers until they get knocked out. Then Vikram's trainers get to pick which ones they want to train and which ones get sold out to the Labs. Vikram always supervised in the past, while Petir socialized with my previous owner or drank himself into a stupor. Now that Vikram is the Dealer for combat assets, he seems to be having trouble stepping back from his previous role.

And what the hell happened to Petir? Not that I'm surprised he got replaced. He'd been doing a half-assed job for years. But why take him right after his meeting with Zeke? The fact that he just disappeared isn't so much a mystery – that's the preferred way of dealing with troublesome members of the Leash. However, it doesn’t usually appear as a random act, and I’ve never heard of it causing suspicion between owners. Are things changing? Or is this a coincidence? Or was it supposed to cast doubt on Master Zeke? Was that the intention, or an unfortunate by-product?

Vikram gestures to one of the domestics, then snarls, “Tell them to keep it away from the glass! I'm not replacing another fucking panel today!” The domestic gives a quick bow and scurries off to deliver the message.

“My apologies,” Vikram says to Master, his tone softening. “This new group of assets is quite skittish. It's difficult for my trainers to keep them from smashing against the walls.”

“New group?”

“We just got in all the assets that Dillon and Reynard passed up in the last shipment from Ellaine. She takes the smart ones, Reynard takes the pretty ones, Dillon takes a pick of the athletic ones, and I take the leftovers in bulk. This shipment is from the same group that Dillon used for his little gift at the Arcrest Hunt.”

Shit. Beside me, Ruby shifts closer to the glass with interest. I grit my teeth and repress the urge to shove him back. If he makes a sound, I'll have to knock him out before Vikram can notice. Hopefully, either his brother isn't here or has already passed through, so it won't come to that.

“Speaking of assets,” Vikram continues, “You're here looking for a combat asset, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Something up to par with a zero will be tricky,” Vikram says thoughtfully. “They're tough little bastards. We had a couple of them here for a while, back when they were first sold in. Had to fight them until they tired and died – they weren't any fun for spectators. Too quick to the kill. After the first couple turned on their owners, nobody wanted them for bodyguards, so we got several more. Is that what you're here looking for?” he asks, cocking his head to the side speculatively. “A guard in case your zero turns on you? Because I have to tell you, an asset that experienced is going to cost you.”

“My zero has shown no signs of aggression,” Master assures Vikram. I can't speak for the other zeros in my group, but I doubt any of us would lose control unless we were put into horrific situations over and over again. That kind of violence and aggression eventually leaves you numb, and you either snap or become dead inside. The latter happened to me with my previous owner. “However, I am looking for a bodyguard. I thought it might be a good idea to have one, now that my zero is a pleasure asset.”

“Think he's getting soft?” Vikram asks.

“Not soft, but...” Master hesitates, considering his words. I'm not really sure what he's trying to hide. Does he think my wounds are a secret? If so, then he probably shouldn't have paraded me around naked in front of all the other owners. “...Zero has some old injuries that have been bothering him. It's actually one of the reasons I came to see you.”

“I saw the scars on his hip when you and Dillon fucked him,” Vikram says. Of course he did. It felt like every eye on the Satellite was on me that night. It wasn't an unpleasant act, but it was certainly unnerving to be the focus of so much attention. “Pulse-rifle blasts can do some serious damage. It's probably good that you've retired him.”

“I know the wound still pains him. I wanted to see if I could acquire some pain-patches from you to manage his symptoms. My last source has dried up.”

“Pain-patches aren't cheap,” Vikram says, but he's pulling out his Key as he speaks.

I want to scream, “Finally!” and flip the damn table over, but I don't think it would be prudent. Or possible, given the way the support braces are bolted to the floor. 

“I understand,” Master responds. “It is my preferred method, but what other options do you have?”

For fuck's sake, Zeke, now is not the time to be cutting costs!

“We have a little bit of everything here,” Vikram says easily. “It just depends on what you're looking for. Pills, injections, inhalants. I have drugs stronger and weaker than the patches, but I can honestly say that I don't have anything as long-lasting. Of course, you don't really need long-lasting function if your zero is only being used of sex anyway. An hour or two should be more than enough.”

I grit my teeth as Master Zeke hesitates, considering his options. Nothing weaker than the patches has any effect on Kip, and anything stronger than the patches will make him too loopy to hide. It has to be the patches – they're the only thing that works.

“I don't want him running out of steam in the middle of things,” Master says casually. “Perhaps we can negotiate the price? If I'm buying a quality asset, maybe you could come down on the pain-patches?”

Vikram considers that, then taps the table-top on Master's side. These tables, much like the ones at the Line, double as interactive monitors. I can see three rows of images on the table above me, all pictures of fighters for sale.

“The top line is Competition assets,” Vikram says, gesturing to the images on the tabletop. “Second row is trained assets that have never been in the Competition before. The bottom row is for newer assets that haven't received much training. The newest ones are in the arena right now.” He gestures again to the window, where his more experienced assets seem to be systematically knocking out the new assets with little to no difficulty. “We get the entirety of Ellaine's cast-offs,” Vikram explains. “So we have the trainers rough them up a bit, test their reflexes, and see if any of them have the potential to become fighters. The ones that get knocked out early are sold to the Labs.”

“I see,” Master responds. I see his eyes flick to one of the downed men outside, and I can almost hear him wondering what will happen to the man. Honestly, what did he think happened to most of the assets here? They're fighters – it's kill or be killed. Most owners only care about making a profit, and some assets are worth more for their parts than their skills. “And what level would I need to buy to negotiate a better price.”

“Either the Competition assets or the fully trained ones,” Vikram replies predictably. “Obviously, we can do a better deal with the Competition assets, as they are significantly more expensive. However, if you're just looking for a bodyguard, you might be fine with a trained asset that is not Competition-ready. Those are going to be the middle line. The bottom line assets are pretty set in price – we haven't done much with them, so we're not making much off of them.”

“I understand,” Master replies. He's peering at the images, but I doubt he really knows what the stats below them mean. From underneath the table, I have to read the tag numbers and stats backwards, so it takes me an extra second to decipher them. I recognize a few faces in the top line of assets from my trips here with my previous owner. The top line's stats are significantly better than the second line, but their prices are also significantly higher. Still, I see several of the middle-line assets that seem to have a lot of potential. It would be better to take one of the top-line assets, but given Master's frugality with the pain-patches, I doubt we'll be getting one of the most expensive assets. I think I can make a partially-trained asset into a Competition-ready one in the time-frame we have.

When I pull my attention away from the profiles, Vikram is looking out the window again.

“I actually need to get back in there soon,” Vikram says, his eyes surveying the field. “I have a couple of my better trainers out there now, but I'll still need to speak with them and see which ones from the last group they want to keep. I let my trainers pick the assets for their training groups. It’s a good motivation for them to be selective, knowing that they will be taking responsibility for the new asset, and I find that it makes more cohesive groups. The trainers also seem to have the best sense of which assets will become good fighters. It’s also a lot easier for them to spot strong potential from inside the fight than for me to do it from out here.”

Vikram leans back and finishes his beer. He sets the bottle down and gestures to the table again.

“If you set your Key on the tabletop, it will connect to our system. You'll be able to buy any of the assets you see here by just touching the icon next to their picture on the screen. Then we'll have them escorted to your ship for loading. All but the bottom row are trained and guaranteed obedient.”

“Convenient,” Master replies, glancing between the pictures on the screen and the window to the pit. All of the assets are wearing collars with number tags, even the trainers in the pit. I wonder if Master would be interested in taking one of the trainers home, then dismiss the idea. Most trainers are retired Competition assets that never placed high enough to be bought by the Controller, so they're as expensive as the top row but without being likely to do well in the Competition.

“If you want to see any of the assets fight, you can select them and set up a mock-battle. They won't be allowed to damage each other, but you can get a better sense of their skills. It'll have to happen after the hazing, though, as we do all of the fights in the pit. Unless you see the one you want already out there, but I wouldn't recommend getting a new asset. Not with your zero out of commission.”

“I'll take that under advisement,” Master replies. Vikram nods and moves to stand, but Master gestures quickly for him to wait.

“A moment more,” Master asks. Vikram settles back with a nod. “I just wanted to... Well, I know that Petir was your uncle and that he went missing under some suspicious circumstance.” Damn, Zeke, this is a gamble! I tense, wondering if it's a good idea to bring up this issue directly. If Vikram reacts poorly, this could go very badly for us. “I wanted to assure you that I had nothing to do with it. I might not have liked Petir, but he left my presence in good condition.”

Vikram gives Master an unreadable stare. The seconds slip by with me tense and ready to intervene, Master relaxed and open, and Vikram pinning him with an intense stare.

Finally, Vikram grins.

“I like your directness,” Vikram responds, and I allow myself to relax. Vikram might be dangerous, but he's not subversive. If he were angry, he wouldn't be hiding it behind a smile. “My uncle and I were never very close,” he explains to Zeke. “To be honest, I think he had delusions of grandeur and he was embittered when they failed to materialize. He pushed his boundaries a lot, and it wouldn't surprise me if he pushed them with you. Petir...” Vikram says slowly, trailing his words as he considers them. “Petir had been warned many times that he was stepping out of line. I don't think you had anything to do with his... removal. I think it was the culmination of a long string of infractions.”

“I'm glad we managed to sort that out,” Master says, putting out his hand. Vikram shakes it with a firm grip. “I would hate to have that kind of suspicion between us.”

“You have an honest face,” Vikram says as they separate. “I don't think you could hide anything in this nest of serpents. We'll see if that benefits you in the future or not. For now, though, please watch the fights and have a look at the assets we offer here. If I don't see you again before you leave, it was a pleasure meeting with you. Please accept a pack of our specialty beers as a token of my esteem.” Vikram gestures, and one of the assets at the bar brings over a cardboard case with six of the black-bottled beers inside. Master thanks him, and then Vikram leaves.

When Vikram has disappeared up the stairs, Master sags in his seat with a sigh. I shift closer, so that my cheek is pressed against his thigh, and whisper, “That was a gamble.”

He turns his face toward the glass so people won't see us, then says softly, “You have no idea.”

“There are a couple assets in the middle group that have pretty solid stats. I can give you the numbers,” I whisper against his knee. “The Trainers can negotiate on Vikram's behalf up to a certain point. The button next to 'Buy' is 'View.' One of the Trainers will bring the asset to you upstairs so you can look him over. Then you can negotiate the price and let them know that the pain-patches are included in the deal.”

Zeke lays his hand over mine where it's gripping the seat next to him. He gives me a tired smile before turning back to the window and saying, “This is going better than expected.”

“We're not done yet,” I remind him, but I'm feeling somewhat optimistic as well. If we can manage to get a semi-decent combat asset along with Kip's pain-patches for a reasonable price, then the mission will go off without a hitch, despite Ruby tagging along.

We might actually pull this off, even with Zeke taking his usual unfathomable and unreasonable chances.

Of course, it's when I'm finally starting to feel a bit optimistic that I hear Ruby make a noise of surprise behind me. I glance across the pit, and although I can see several new assets coming in, I can't pinpoint one that might be related to Ruby. Still, he makes the noise again, shoving his way to Zeke's knee.

“That's him!” Ruby hisses, his voice low but not low enough.

“Which one?” Zeke responds, frowning as he glances over the field. I glance around, but thankfully we're in a pretty secluded booth, because Zeke isn't even trying to cover the fact that he's talking to us.

“He's...” Ruby glances again at the window. “The tag says 278.”

Zeke and I both peer out the window. Red isn't hard to find once we have the tag number, as he's just been pushed in from the opposite wall and he's facing us, his stance wide and his fists up. His head has been shaved, which isn't uncommon for fighters – less to grab onto in a fight. He's tall and muscular, probably taller than Master and definitely heavier. His muscles are bulky and thick, so he can probably take a beating well but he'll lose a lot in speed and dexterity. If he were trained to compensate for his size with extra speed, maybe I'd have a chance of getting him trained in time. As it stands, I don't see any way to raise his skill level except for months of long, intensive training. His eyes dart warily between the trainers, but he isn't moving, choosing to hold his ground instead of shift with his attackers' movements. It's a stupid choice given the nature of the battle, and I can see the trainers thinking the same things I am: No instincts, bad body-type, too much training needed. If he doesn't get bought out of the pit, he'll probably be sold to the labs.

However, the first thing I notice about him is his skin. Where Ruby has pale, almost milk-white skin, this man has skin the color of plain coffee. Where Ruby has the petite features and green eyes of an Irish or European Earth-heritage, this man has the broad face and flatter nose of typical African heritage, along with brown eyes and hair that was likely black based on his eyebrows. The two could not look more racially dissimilar if someone had chosen their features on purpose.

“That man is not your brother!” Master Zeke hisses.

“He... I...”

“There is no way to convince me you're related,” he growls. “Try again.”

Ruby tears up, his fingers clutching at Master's pant-leg. I don't know why Master Zeke is waiting this long. Just go to plan B.

“Please,” Ruby says desperately, two tears cascading down his face. He knows his charade is over, and that Zeke is the only hope he has left. “Please, you never would have brought me if you'd known...”

“Known what?” Master snarls.

“That Red is my boyfriend,” Ruby sobs helplessly. “We met at the group home and ran away together. Please, please, save him! I'll do- I'll do anything you want! Just don't let him die!”

Master is quiet for a moment, his eyes staring at Ruby in an unreadable way.

Don't fucking tell me...

Then Master turns to his Key in a quick movement, and then Ruby is suddenly falling over. I grab him before his head can hit the floor and make even more noise.

“Take him back to the ship,” Master instructs. “If anyone asks, tell them that the bloodshed was too much for him and he fainted. Tie him up, and when you come back to me I'll wake him up from here.”

“Yes, sir,” I respond, and then shift awkwardly until I can get over Ruby and slide out from under the table. I pull Ruby behind me, putting him over my shoulder as I stand.

I hesitate before I leave, staring at Zeke as his eyes dart around the battlefield, following Red as he gets smacked around the ring. Already his left eyebrow is bleeding. They've split his lips already, too. With all the face-blows they're going for, it pretty much solidifies my opinion that the trainers don't want him either. As I watch him run from one assailant and almost collide with a second, I realize that on top of being slow and having bad instincts, he has a hard time tracking multiple enemies in a single ring, meaning he'll probably struggle to watch multiple limbs when dealing with one-on-one battles. He's a terrible choice and will be a nightmare to train.

I'm pretty sure Zeke is considering buying him.

“We need a trained asset,” I remind him softly.

“Yes, I know,” Zeke replies, but it comes out more like a sigh.

“Plus Vikram won't give us a deal on the patches if we get an untrained asset.”

“Yes, I'm aware.”

“We need the pain-pa...”

“I know what we need, Zero!” he snaps back at me, then reins in his tone and says, “Just trust me. I will do the right thing, okay?”

But the right thing for who? I wonder as I turn and carry Ruby toward the exit. I just need you to do the right thing for Kip. I don't care about the rest of them.

I can't. If I cared for every unfortunate soul here, I'd drive myself mad.

And I'd make the wrong decision for the people I care about.


	22. Reunion and Separation - Zeke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We managed a chapter this week! Yay! And I am feeling much better, although like always I never have enough time. Lol, what can you do? I know this chapter ends with a nasty cliffhanger - I will do my best to roll out another chapter for next week. I apologize in advance. Sorry!
> 
> As always, betas are the absolute best. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. I couldn't do it without them!

I watch Zero carry Ruby (over his shoulder, like a sack of grain) up the stairs and out of the bar because I can't stand to turn my attention back to the arena. Once they're gone, I have no more excuses.

Ruby's... boyfriend. Why hadn't I considered that? Kip warned me once that they try to avoid capturing people with family ties, and it's logical that Ruby would lie about his relationship. I was trying to turn him into a sex-slave, after all. In his mind, if I'd known Red was his boyfriend, I might have actively tried to keep them apart, hoping that Ruby would eventually come around to my advances. So he lied, and I stupidly played right along.

So the question becomes, what do I do now?

In the ring, the new assets are still holding their position against the trainers. In the lineup, Red has the tallest height and the darkest skin, making him stand out even among the combat assets. Although it seems that the majority of these assets have dark coloring, unlike most of the pleasure and domestic assets I've seen. I wonder if it's a bias that owners have, in wanting pale assets for their beds. Certainly I've never seen assets this tall or brawny in the pleasure category, and Red is the largest in the new group of combat assets. Only the trainers seem to outweigh him, and even they are of a similar height to Red. That has to be an advantage. Having size and strength on your opponent might not win against tremendous skill, but it has to help. Right?

One of the trainers makes a grab and the assets scatter. Red and the asset beside him stay close, and one of the trainers follow them. The trainer grabs for the other asset, but the asset ducks and lunges away from the trainer. The asset knocks into Red, shoving him hard enough to make the taller asset stumble and fall to his knees. The trainer shifts targets, kicking Red in the stomach and making him roll onto his side to protect his torso. I can't hear the wheeze of pain through the glass, but I can see Red's shoulders heave in terrified breathing. Red manages to roll to his knees and scramble away, but he's already taken a hard blow early in the fighting.

He has no training, I remind myself. These fights are unbalanced and the new assets have no chance of winning. His performance today isn't necessarily a reflection of his general skills, as these are the worst conditions he could be fighting under. With some training, he might turn his size to his advantage, where now it just makes him a bigger target. The question becomes, does Zero have the skill to train a combat asset? He certainly has the skills himself, but that doesn't mean he would be a good trainer. Then again, I won't know until he tries.

I can't believe I'm considering this.

“Fuck,” I growl, rubbing at my eyes. If I take Red, I won't be able to negotiate on the pain-patches. I'll pay the same amount for an untrained asset and the drugs as I would a trained asset and the drugs. And the trained asset could have years of experience on Red. Can I really ask Zero to get Red trained to a Competition level asset in just months? It's not fair of me to ask that of him. Not only that, but Zero is hoping to sharpen his skills with the new combat asset, not delay his own training to help Red start his. Red will be no better than the shadow dummy at first. Worse, possibly, since I'll be upset if Zero breaks him.

I bring my attention back to the fight and find that the trainers have singled out Red, maybe because of his size or the way he keeps stumbling. Two of them have Red backed up against the opposite wall, so I can see their backs and Red's front. I notice for the first time how faded and worn his black t-shirt is, now ripped from the fighting but already old before they started. Are they the same clothes that Red was picked up in? I know Ruby has only been in the Leash for a couple weeks, is it possible that Red has been imprisoned the entire time? Where the trainers are in cargo pants and combat boots, Red is dressed in threadbare jeans and old sneakers. A quick glance tells me that the other assets are dressed similarly. It seems like these boys were snatched off the street and then caged until they could be thrown into this match.

Caged until they're killed, for some of them.

There's black sand on Red's face, so he must have taken another tumble while I wasn't looking. His lip is split, dribbling blood down his chin. The sand does a remarkable job of absorbing blood from the arena floor, but somehow Red has managed to smear blood across both his fists and down one arm. It's a surprise that he's even still standing, given the amount of damage he's taken. Despite the damage, his stance is still wide and firm, his hands balled into fists and held protectively in front of him. His face is afraid but resigned. He already knows that this is a fight he can't win, yet he holds his ground instead of trying to hide among the other assets. He's no coward, at least. He stands alone even against insurmountable odds.

I could save this man.

Without really thinking about it, my fingers find the bottom row of images and I tap to bring it up. The assets in the ring come up first, followed by lines of other new assets who have already battled. Red's picture stares at me – dark, frightened eyes that belie the neutral expression on his face. I check the price and... Damn it! He's still expensive. Not as expensive as the better trained assets, but expensive enough that I can't just shrug off the cost.

In the arena, Red takes another hard hit and goes to his knees. This time, they don't let him get back up. A trainer brings a kick around and catches Red on the jaw. There's another spray of blood and Red falls all the way to the ground, struggling to roll onto his side and protect his front from more kicks. A second trainer kicks his shoulder, forcing him out of the curl. The three surround him, and it's obvious that they're getting tired of playing with him.

I could come back. I try to hold on to that thought. If this truly is a mistake, if I can't make it work, if Red isn't good enough to become a combat asset, if Zero isn't able to train him, if a thousand other things go wrong, I could come back. I could buy a different asset. I could sell Red – maybe even sell him back here, a little better trained and a little better off. I could change my mind. I'm sure owners do that all the time. I could take a chance on this and then cut my losses if it doesn't work out.

I say this to myself trying to convince myself that it's possible. Because while I know that I  _ can _ return an asset once I've taken him into my care... I'm not sure that I'm capable of doing it.

Red is on his back, struggling to sit up, and the trainers circle him like buzzards around a corpse. One more solid hit and he might not survive, but the rule seems to be that no asset leaves the ring conscious. Still, Red struggles to stay awake and get back on his feet. He seems to know – maybe they've told him, like Vikram told me – that some of the assets who get knocked out won't wake back up. It certainly seems like the trainers show preferential treatment to some of the assets, knocking them out quickly with minimal damage, unlike the way they're toying with Red. If I had any hopes that passing on Red wouldn't be a death-sentence for him, that thought eliminates it. No one else is going to save Red.

So I will.

I press the button to purchase him on the table-top and quickly confirm on my Key. The trainers are still moving in and I hold my breath, wondering if they intend to just kill him now. It certainly looks like another strong hit could end him. Then I see the door open on the other side of the ring. A man leans out and yells something, gesturing at Red as he struggles and finally manages to sit up. In the circle around Red, I can see expressions of confusion and surprise on the faces of trainers. I'm pretty sure I see one ask, “Are you sure?” The man in the doorway gives a sharp reply, and the trainer shrugs. It takes all three of them to get Red dragged back through the door, especially as Red struggles in their grip. Eventually, they get him through the entrance at the other side and then return to the battle ground.

I leave before I can get emotionally attached to any of the other fighters. I can't afford to make any more purchases like this one. No, that's not true. I really couldn't afford to make this one either.

I meet Zero at the top of the stairs. He stares at me for a long moment, and I'm startled enough by his appearance that I can't manage to cover my expression. Zero takes a very slow, deliberate breath and closes his eyes for a long moment. Then he turns from me and walks back the way he came. I hesitate another moment, then fall in step beside him.

“They'll be taking him to our ship for processing,” Zero says in a low voice. “We can meet them there.”

“I...” What can I say? I'm unable to voice the apology that's on my lips for fear that someone else will hear it, but I also can't stand the disappointed, defeated slope of Zero's shoulders.

Zero shrugs, and we've moved far enough from the crowd that he says, “This is worse than buying no one. This is a liability and a problem in one. You know that, don't you?”

“I do,” I respond somberly. When he says it like that... I sound like such an impulsive idiot. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not cut out for this mission. Maybe... But there's nothing to be done about it now. About any of it.

“Then there's nothing to say,” Zero finishes. “I will abide by your choices, Master.”

I know I deserved that for keeping Zero in the dark, but the reminder of our stations stings a little.

We walk the rest of the way back to the ship in silence. When we get there, Red is already waiting. He's tied, dirty, bleeding, and sitting in the bed of a little motorized cart that they must use to move assets between the holding cells and fighting area. There's a tall, muscular man standing beside the cart, dressed in the cargo pants and combat boots that most of the trainers wear. Zero steps protectively to my side, but the trainer only steps forward casually.

“The asset is ready for transport,” he says, his voice gruff but professional. “Dealer Vikram authorized me to negotiate on a supply of pain-patches, but...”

“...only if I'm buying a mid or upper-level asset,” I finish for him. “I'd like to add one box of pain-patches to my purchase. The standard price is fine.”

Beside me, Zero tenses. I understand that he was hoping to get a larger supply of the drugs, but at the full price there's no incentive for me to buy more than absolutely necessary. This amount should get Zero through the week, and I might be able to negotiate a similar deal with Ellaine. Through her medical assets, she might have access to the same kinds of medications.

The trainer has a tablet with him and he puts in my purchase. I authorize it through my key, and then he hands a single, unmarked box to Zero. I realize after a moment that it's the pain-patches, and... Damn. I hadn't expected it to look so small.

The trainer sends me the code to transfer control of Red's chip. I expect him to leave after, but he waits with an air of annoyed expectation. It's only after several awkward moments pass that I realize he's waiting for me to transfer the chip on the spot. I have to assume that it's standard policy with combat assets – can't have them getting in a ship and then attacking the new owner before he can complete the transfer. I'm hesitant to put Red through this kind of trauma with how beaten he already is, but I also don't want to make myself look more suspicious. In the end, practicality wins out. I move to the cart and kneel beside where he's sitting on the back. Blood runs down his face and one eye is swollen almost completely shut. His good eye follows me warily, but I can tell he's exhausted. It's hard to imagine how he's even still conscious.

“Do you have a mouth piece for him?” I ask, remembering Ruby and Kip's transfers.

The trainer shrugs and says, “No one will care if he screams.”

That completely misses the point, as I wanted the gag to keep him from biting down on his already injured mouth. With a sigh, I unbuckle my belt and pull it from the loops. This makes Red's good eye widen in fear and his feet scrabble at the ground to push himself away from me. I loop the belt once and hold it horizontally in front of his face. He stills, more from confusion than anything else.

“Bite down on it,” I tell him. “I'm going to transfer you. It will be painful.”

He must already know about the transfers, because there's only the briefest hesitation before he bites down on the soft leather of my earth-exported, Italian leather belt. I'll have to throw it out when this is over – another foolish cost that I've put into this purchase.

Red tenses as I recite the number string, but he's not prepared for the pain of the transfer. His scream is muffled as he sinks his teeth into my belt, but his body still thrashes. He falls onto his side, hitting his head against the metal of cart with an audible crack. His legs kick as a pair, tied together but still struggling to move. His back arches, which strikes his head against the inside wall of the cart.

I count the seconds down, and just barely hold myself back from a sound of relief as Red sags when it's over. I move in and give him a new code and name. He doesn't move while it happens, but I can see the steady rise and fall of his chest, hear the wet noise his breathing makes. When I'm finished, the trainer moves in and unties him brusquely. The trainer smacks Red's face, and I'm surprised to see Red struggle to push himself up and stagger off of the cart. The belt falls from his lips and I lose sight of it as he turns. He goes to one knee almost immediately, but I'm still shocked that he's conscious after all that damage and a transfer.

The trainer thanks me and then leaves. I suppose that's all he's required to do, and from his impatience I can assume that we've already taken up more of his time than he thinks necessary for this kind of transaction. I move closer to Red, reaching out to take back the belt that's still gripped in his fingers. I see his eyes dart with a frenzied, wild expression, and I realize that he's overwhelmed and panicking. If I don't intervene, he's going to bolt and do even more damage to himself when Zero has to bring him back. Not to mention the damage to my reputation.

“Don't make a scene,” I tell him in a quiet voice as I lean close under the guise of taking my belt back. “We have Ruby in the ship.”

His good eye goes wide with fear, and for a moment I'm surprised at his reaction before I realize just how threatening that sounds.

“He's my asset,” I clarify. “He asked me to get you.”

Red opens his mouth, then closes it before saying anything. He tries again to push himself to his feet, but staggers, hitting his knees hard. I gesture to Zero, who moves in and puts a shoulder under Red's arm. I think Zero could probably carry Red, if he really needed to, but Red manages to make his way up the ramp and into the ship by leaning heavily on Zero.

Once inside the jump ship, Zero drops Red into one of the rear passenger seats. Ruby is on the floor, tied with his wrists bound to his ankles in nylon cord. He’s got a few loops of the rope wrapped around his back and legs, and there’s a makeshift gag stuffed in his mouth. I roll my eyes and start to untie him, aware that waking him in this position will probably cause even more panic from him. I have to wonder if Zero was just upset and went overboard, or if this was a subtle way to express his displeasure at Ruby. Either way, I loose the redhead and prop him up against one of the seats. 

“Wassa matter with him?” comes slurred, anxious words from Red. I glance over to see him watching us anxiously, like he’s just barely holding himself back from approaching. Or maybe just too injured to attempt to move. 

“He's unconscious,” I simplify. “It's something I can do with the chip. I'm going to wake him up now. He probably won't react well.”

Red just watches as I kneel beside Ruby and give the command to wake him up. As expected, he surges up with a scream. His hands go to his face and, mimicking what I watched Kip do last time, I intercept them before he can scratch himself. He blinks his eyes rapidly and I can see his vision clearing. He glances toward me and then to Red and stops crying, stills entirely. I release his hands from my grip and back away.

“Red?” he asks, his voice tremulous and desperate. “Is that really you?”

“I'm here,” Red assures, his deep voice ragged. “Can you come here? I can't... I'm busted up pretty good and I...”

Then Ruby is in his arms with another sob, and Red wraps him up in his arms even though the pressure must be hurting him. Red just pulls him closer, wraps his good arm around the boy, buries his face against Ruby's neck. There are tears on Red's cheeks as well, although his crying is more contained than Ruby's. Maybe he just doesn't have the energy for the convulsive sobs that Ruby makes.

“Shhh,” Red soothes. “You okay? Anybody hurt you?” he asks. Ruby shakes his head against Red's shoulder.

“I was so scared,” I hear Ruby whisper. “I thought I'd never find you again. I thought you'd die and I...”

“I'm okay. I'm here now, and I won't let us be separated again.”

The resolve in Red's voice lets me know that he, at least, is aware of what a difficult thing that will be to manage given their situation. Keeping one untrained asset on my team is bad enough, but to now have a second one... Dare I hope that he's actually a half-decent fighter? That his size and strength are able to lend themselves easily to the fighting skills that he'll need? Perhaps his dedication to be kept with Ruby will give him added incentive to train, but is that really enough to get him ready to compete in a couple months against assets that have been training for years?

I truly don't know, but I suppose I've already resolved myself to trying. It would be too cruel to separate Red and Ruby now, when they've just found each other again. I could sell them together, but I doubt any other owner would keep them as a pair. Not to mention that no other owner would treat them humanely. No, it's too late for second thoughts now. Whatever may come, I have to at least try to train them. I owe them that much of a chance.

Ruby must realize the state that Red is in, because he pulls back slowly, settling so that his knee is pressed against Red's. He has Red's hand in his own and he's clutching it in a white-knuckled grip, like he might somehow fuse them at the wrist so that they can never be separated again.

“They cut your hair,” Ruby says, gesturing to Red's shaved head.

“Yeah, yours too,” Red responds, glancing at the red stubble on Ruby's head.

“I'm...” Ruby hesitates, his voice thick with tears. “I'm gonna have to get used to missing the dreadlocks.”

“They'll grow back,” Red whispers, then his eyes glance toward me and then quickly back to Ruby. “Or-... Or maybe I'll keep it this way. Maybe this will be better.”

“I can't believe I found you,” Ruby sobs.

“I can't believe it either,” Red responds, but his voice is too soft. I can tell that he's at the end of his endurance. He's lax in his seat, his eyes heavy lidded from exhaustion. I have no doubt that if Ruby weren't here, Red would already have passed out. It seems like will alone is keeping his eyes open and trained on the young red-head, like looking away might cause him to disappear. Another soft sob comes from Ruby, and I see him lean his head down to rest against their clasped hands. When I glance back at Red, I notice that his eyes have finally closed, his body still except for the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

For the first time, I notice Zero standing beside me, close enough that his side brushes against mine. He's watching Ruby and Red with the same fascination that I am, and I wonder if he's feeling as touched by their reunion as I do. He must feel my eyes on him, because he glances up at me, his expression neutral. Then I feel the touch of his hand on mine and he laces our fingers together.

“I don't understand the choices you make,” Zero admits, “but then I remember that I didn't understand it when you saved me either, or when you bought Kip. I don't know if you made the right call in buying him,” Zero says, his eyes flicking back to the sitting pair, “but I'm glad you put them back together.”

“It was the right thing to do,” I tell him quietly, and use our joined hands to pulls his up so that I can kiss his knuckles. “I'm sorry I wasn't able to purchase you a training partner. I know how valuable your skills are. I don't know what I would have done without you here today. I don't know what I'd do without you ever, to be honest.”

His eyes come back to my face and he nods once, seeing my sincerity. Then he looks away again, but leans toward me. I disentangle our hands so that I can wrap my arm around him and pull him close.

“I've missed this,” he says softly, and if there were any noise I probably would have missed it. “I've missed you.”

A thousand excuses come to my lips, reasons that I haven't had the time or energy to give him the attention that I did before, but I stifle them. What good are excuses when you can't explain the reasons behind them? Instead, I reply softly, “I know, and I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” he counters, but his voice is still calm. “Be different. Be better. Be... you.”

“Okay,” I tell him with a soft smile, then lean my head against his hair. “I'll try.”

But somehow, I don't think he knows how much he's asking of me.

Ruby and Red stay together for the flight back to the ship. Red likely slips into unconsciousness at some point, the damage to his body too great to really let him sleep. I think Ruby is probably awake, but he stays beside Red, hands clasped with his lover's, and feigns sleep. Maybe it makes it easier to pretend that everything will be fine now that they've found each other. Maybe it helps him deny the fact that they're both my slaves, that Red is badly injured, and that escape is unlikely and could get them both killed. I leave them be, unwilling to break their small moment of peace.

In the cockpit, Zero is silent without being sullen. He's not happy about the situation, but seeing Ruby and Red reunited seems to have mitigated some of his anger. He still got the patches, so today wasn't a total loss. And who knows? Maybe Red will turn out to be a passable combat asset. He certainly has the resilience for it.

We arrive back at the ship, and Zero is able to rouse Red and get him moving under his own power. I direct Red to the medical bay, and Ruby follows along behind us. Once inside, I realize that Red is simply too covered in blood and dirt for me to treat even in the most basic fashion. There's a small shower at the rear of the exam room, and I ask Zero to help Red wash off. Zero gives me a flat look, but obeys. They'll just have to get used to working with each other, as Zero will be training Red.

Red comes out several minutes later, naked except for a towel modestly held around his waist. It seems that Zero's lack of care about nudity isn't something that all combat assets share, or maybe Red is just too new to it. I send Ruby to get some of my sweatpants for Red while I get Red set up for a scan. I think his ribs could be broken, but I'm pleasantly surprised to find only a few cracks and some serious bruising. Zero leaves to find Kip while I'm stitching up the multiple lacerations on Red's face and arms. I have to admit that I'm surprised Kip hasn't come down to meet us. I hope he's not still sick, like he was this morning.

Ruby returns with the pants as I put the last stitch in. Red slips them on gingerly, obviously sore and tired. The pants are... well, “obscenely tight” would probably be the best way to describe them, but it's all we have available for the time being. I'll have to ask Kip to buy a range of clothing sizes to keep on hand. We keep running into this problem. At least the clothes were too big with Ruby. I'm not going to be able to take Red into public wearing those.

“A couple weeks,” I assure Red, “and then you'll be able to start training with Zero.”

There's a tense silence from the other side of the room. I glance over to find Ruby clenching his jaw. Red sits heavily on one of the beds, exhaustion showing on his bruised and swollen face. I'm just starting to think that I might need to let him sleep down here, when Ruby growls, “Red isn't a fighter. You can't expect him to...”

“Enough, Ruby,” I snap in an exasperated tone. I really don't want to get into an argument with him right now. It's been a long day.

“You can't just treat us like this! You can't keep us as slaves forever! We'll get away and-”

“Shut up!” Red snarls, suddenly wide awake. He turns on Ruby, who takes a step back in surprise. “For fuck's sake, Ruby, shut your goddamn mouth! What the fuck are you thinking? You think I want to go back there? You think anybody's gonna treat you better than this? I thought...” he chokes up, then takes a breath. His voice comes back, angry again. “I saw some of the sex slaves get discarded. They had a load of bodies travel with us and…” His voice cracks, and for a moment he wrestles for control. “It was some of the guys we came in with. I thought for sure I'd see you among them. When I didn’t, I was convinced that I’d missed you and you got sold to the labs for parts. I just... I just wanted to die after that.”

Which explains his resignation in the ring, his unwillingness to fight back. He was afraid – of course he was, he's barely in his twenties and with no training or experience – but also ready to let it end. And the shipment of dead pleasure assets... They're likely the gifts from Vikram's party that got used too hard. Ruby easily could have been among them, if he hadn't come to me. With his attitude, it seems likely that another owner would have taken the loss.

Red turns to me, the fire in his eyes dimming, and says, “I'll do whatever it takes to stay here. Whatever I need to do for you to keep me... Master.”

Ruby makes a pained sound of denial, but says nothing. I incline my head slightly, an acknowledgment without a promise. I will do what I can to keep them together, but... I have other obligations as well.

The door to the med bay slides open, and Zero is standing there. Kip is in his arms, and Zero's body is so tense that I can see the muscles standing out on his arms. Kip's eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. There's a slight sheen of sweat on his face, his brow creased in pain. And his skin is pale.

His skin is so very, very pale.

I meet Zero's eyes and find terror there, fear like I've never seen on his features. I feel frozen in place, completely unable to handle this sudden shift in front of me. Zero's arms curl, pulling Kip's frail form closer. When did he get so skinny? I knew he was losing weight, but... when did he become almost skeletal again?

What's happening?

Zero makes a desperate sound steps into the room. He goes to his knees, and I suddenly realize that he's shaking – that's why he's gripping Kip so hard, to keep from dropping him. I find myself standing over them, my dark and light assets. Zero looks at me desperately.

“I can't wake him up. Please, Master. I can't... He won't wake up.”


	23. Losing It - Zero POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The much-awaited chapter! Sorry for the cliffhanger last week!  
> Also, if I haven't responded to your review yet, I am still working on it. I really wanted to make sure this chapter got out today, so I tired to focus. Thank you for your patience!
> 
> As always, betas are the absolute best. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. I couldn't do it without them!

    Zeke falls to his knees in front of me, his hands reaching out toward Kip in my arms. My focus is narrowed to the rise and fall of Kip's chest, assuring me that he’s still okay. It contradicts the cold, clammy feeling of his skin against my own and the lightness of his form in my arms. I didn't know it had gotten this bad. I'd have done something. I wouldn't have lied to Zeke. I would have... I would have done anything.

    This is all my fault.

    Zeke's fingers find Kip's neck. I know already that his pulse is a little raised but steady. When did this happen? I was the last one to see him. He looked tired and pained, but not unlike any of the other times he had a migraine. Was he hiding even from me? Why would he do that? He knows I'd do anything to help him. He knows that.

    “Put him on the bed,” Zeke instructs, his voice turning professional, “and get his shirt off.”

    I move and put Kip into one of the gurney-style beds, reluctant to let him out of my arms. I pull back and gently unbutton and slip him out of his pajama top. Beside me, I see Ruby and Red slink away toward the back of the room, giving Zeke and me space. I want them to leave, but I can't spare enough focus to tell them that. When I back up, Zeke moves in to stick the monitoring pads on Kip's chest. He looks Kip over, pulling down his eyelids to look at his pupils and turning his head gently to check for injuries. After that, he turns away and pulls up the screen on the wall next to him. I know that it displays readings from the monitors on Kip, but I don't really understand the numbers and graphs that appear. He stares at them for what seems like ages, but it is likely only a few minutes. Finally, he says, “He's stable. Unconscious, but stable.”

    “What's wrong with him?” I press.

    “I don't know,” Zeke responds, and he sounds lost and afraid too. “I can't see any obvious trauma that would have caused this, no signs of a head injury or concussion. His blood pressure is a little high and his heart rate is raised as well, but it shouldn't be bad enough to cause this.”

    “There's obviously _something_ wrong with him,” I growl.

    “Damnit Zero!” Zeke snaps back at me. “I'm not a doctor! I don't know why this is happening! Give me a wound and I can stitch it shut but I... I don't know enough to even guess at what's happening. He hasn't been showing any symptoms, so I don't have any clue about...”

    “Headaches,” I interrupt. “Nausea. Restlessness. Anxiety. Mood swings. Light sensitivity. Loss of appetite.”

    I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Just fix him. Please.

    “How...” he takes a deep breath and swallows thickly. “How long has this been going on?”

    I tighten my jaw, unable to speak for a moment, but it's all the confirmation Zeke needs. After weeks of letting things slip by, he's finally paying attention.

    “I see,” he says very quietly, and I can sense his hurt but I don't have time to feel bad about it.

    “Can you help him?” I prompt.

    “I don't... Zero, I'm trying...”

    “Well try harder!” I snap, and his eyes narrow dangerously.

    “Maybe I'd have half a shot at helping him if you'd come to me in the first place!” he snarls.

    He's right, of course. I did this. I let Kip's fears and Master Zeke's evasions cloud my judgment. I let my anger at being kept in the dark poison my trust in Zeke. Out of all the things I could have doubted about him, his dedication to protecting us should have been the last one. Of course he wouldn't hurt Kip. He bought Kip half-dead, he wouldn't give up just because he's ill again.

    It seems so rational now. Just like it seemed so logical then.

    My eyes go back to Kip, his pale form lying so still in the bed. He'd looked so similar to this when I saw him earlier, when he'd claimed he'd been too exhausted to see us off. Had he been hiding his pain even then? Was he afraid that I'd tell Master Zeke if I knew it had gotten this bad? Or was he simply tired, and the pain had come on later? Did he call for help, only to find that he'd been deserted in his time of need? He was all alone when this happened. I left him alone and he...

    No.

    I didn't leave him alone.

    “You,” I snarl, rounding on Ruby. Hot anger surges in me, and I'm helpless under the wave of it. “You were supposed to be here! You could have helped him!”

    “I didn't...” Ruby tries, stuttering as his eyes jump between me and Kip's still form. His face is pale and I can see guilt in his eyes. “I didn't know this would happen!” Ruby protests. “I didn't want anything bad to happen to Kip!”

    I'm probably not being fair to Ruby, but right now I don't care. I need some outlet for this pain or I'm going to lose my mind.

    Red steps between Ruby and me, moving with a limp. His hands are raised in supplication, his voice soft as he says, “You need to calm down man.”

    He's hardly finished before I slam into him, shoving him out of the way with my shoulder. He grabs me and tries to grapple me down, but he doesn't have the leverage to pull me off my feet, even with his superior size. I break his grip and send him sprawling to the floor. The jarring impact makes him wheeze with pain. He turns to his knees and tries to get back up, but he doesn't have the strength left and he sways pathetically.

    Ruby darts between us, his fists raised in an awkward parody of a fighting stance. He smartly keeps out of my range, so I can't grab him, but that's the extent of his fighting plan. He's obviously aware of how outmatched he is. His face is flushed and there's a tremble running through his arms. His eyes show hopelessness and fear, but he stands his ground between me and Red even when Red groans and tells him to get out of here.

    I grind my teeth in frustration.

    Everything has gone to hell since these two got here. We were fine before that. We were okay when it was just Master, Kip, and me. They've caused this. It's their fault.

    I want them _gone._

    Then Zeke is there, his face set in hard lines, his body acting as a wall between me and that fucking redhead and his boyfriend who have thrown all our lives into chaos.

    “That's enough,” Zeke says firmly, his voice quiet but commanding. “You know this isn't Ruby's fault.”

    “It is his fault!” I snarl, trying to move around Zeke without actually shoving him out of my way. Ruby moves with me, fleeing behind Zeke as I try to come around. Zeke turns with us, backing until Ruby is wedged into a corner, with Zeke braced like a battalion between us.

    “Don't do this, Zero,” Zeke cautions. “Stand down.”

    But my heart is pounding too hard in my chest, and my vision is red around the edges. I'm lost in the sheer intensity of my own anger. Zeke can't completely hide Ruby from me, and Ruby isn't small enough to keep completely hidden. I keep my eyes trained on Zeke, but I see Ruby shift behind him. One of Ruby's hands comes out from the shield of Zeke's body, and I grab his arm before either of them have time to react. I drag Ruby out from behind Zeke, holding his wrist in a crushing grip. He shrieks and falls to his knees, but his slight weight gives me almost no resistance.

    “Zero, discipline level seven.”

    Pain and surprise make me stumble, but I keep a solid grip on Ruby as I tick down the seconds until the wave of pain recedes. I hadn't expected Zeke to use the chip. This is the first time he's disciplined me outside of training exercises. I feel a sting of betrayal, but I push it down. Zeke just doesn't get it. I have to get rid of these two so that everything will be alright. I know that Zeke can't understand that.

    The pain fades, and I yank Ruby off the floor and get him in a one-handed grip around the throat.

    “Damn it Zero!” Zeke snarls, trying to break my hold on Ruby. I put my other hand on his shoulder and shove him away, pushing him hard enough that he sprawls but not hard enough to hurt him. I turn back to Ruby and squeeze my fist, cutting off his airway. He gets in one last choking breath that ends in a wheeze. His hands claw at me desperately, but I ignore them. If he thinks his pathetic scratching will stop me, he'll die stupid and delusional.

    “Zero, discipline level ten.”

    The pain surges again, but this time I'm ready. I brace my feet as the shock hits me, anger and conviction keeping me upright more than anything else. My body trembles, anger fighting against pain in the battle to keep me standing. Seconds take ages and I feel my grip on Ruby's throat slip. He takes a thready, whistling breath. Zeke pushes at my arm, but my body is locked in its rigid stance. He tries pulling Ruby away from me, but my hand is still locked around his throat even if my grip has relaxed enough to let him breath.

    Then the pain stops, and I immediately shut off Ruby's airway again. He kicks his feet desperately, his eyes wide with terror. His face is red and puffy, the constriction of his throat making it swell. Experience tells me that it won't be long now.

    “Zero, please,” Zeke begs, his hand on my wrist while my fingers dig into Ruby's throat. “Please don't make me do this.”

    Zeke could kill me with the chip. I spare a glance for him, but the turmoil in his expression convinces me that he won't. Even if he does, I am not afraid of death.

    In my grip, Ruby's face is going from red to an ugly purple. His hands push feebly against my chest. His eyes roll in his head.

    “I won't let you kill him!” Zeke cries. “Let him go!”

    Zeke doesn't understand. Just a few more minutes, and everything can go back to the way it was. The problem will be solved.

    “Zero-”

    From the line of my vision, I see a streak of red that I barely have time to match with the color of the fire extinguishers that line the cargo bay and its adjacent rooms. Then there's a sharp pain in my head and rush of air as I fall. I see Ruby fall back and hear the wheeze as he gasps for breath. Then darkness overcomes me as I feel the impact of hitting the floor.

    When I come to, I'm in one of the bedrooms on the bottom floor. My hands and feet are locked in handcuffs, but I'm otherwise unrestrained. There's a dull ache in the back of my head, evidence of the earlier trauma. Red must have hit me – Zeke and Ruby were both too occupied to manage it.

    Ruby.

    Fuck.

    I almost killed him.

    My mind runs back over the events of... how long ago? How long have I been out? I sit up and my head swims dizzily, so I can assume that it hasn't been very long. I usually recover from head-trauma within an hour or two, so it can't be longer than that. I wonder if Ruby's okay, or if I managed to do any damage before Zeke and Red subdued me. I try to bring up my reasoning for trying to kill Ruby, but without the haze of rage it just seems like a flimsy excuse to act out. It had seemed so rational at the time, to think that all our problems came from Ruby. To think that killing him would fix everything. To even think that killing him was an option.

    I lost my mind.

    I put my still-manacled hands over my face, pressing until I see spots dancing in front of my eyes. It's one thing to think that you've lost it a little bit, that maybe you're not acting completely rationally. It's another thing to know that you completely lost your sanity for a moment, and did things that you would never even consider in your normal state of mind. It's even worse when you have my skills and strength, when you're capable of such significant harm.

    The realization of what I almost did – what I could have done – leaves me shaken. If Zeke hadn't been there, I'd have killed them both. Would I have stopped there? Or would I have completely snapped? Can I be trusted now that the rage has left me, or will I always be this monster?

    Or is this the monster I've always been finally coming into the light?

    I feel the sudden urge to leave. My hands and feet are still locked in handcuffs, but I pull until the metal groans and finally gives. I assume from the restraints that Zeke wanted me to stay here until he came for me, but I'm feeling too trapped and claustrophobic to remain. I leave with the separated cuffs still hanging from my wrists and ankles, a trickle of blood running down my hand from where one of the cuffs bit into my skin.

    In the hall, I find myself headed back toward the med-bay. Ruby's room is between me and my destination, so although I would prefer to avoid him at the moment I find myself walking past his room. I pass by unnoticed, the door mostly shut. From inside, I hear Ruby's harsh, gravelly voice and wince at the sound. I did that to him. More than that, I hear him say, “I never thought Kip would get hurt! I liked Kip! He tried to teach me cooking, and even though I wasn't very good he never told Zeke. I didn't mean for this to happen!” And I know that I did that, too.

    “Master Zeke,” Red corrects quickly. “You have to call him Master, Ruby. Please. Believe me, you don't want to get sold somewhere else.”

    “I can't believe you're just accepting it!” Ruby growls, his voice deeper from the trauma than normal. “You traitor! You're just going to let them-...”

    “What would you have me do?” Red snarls. “Nobody cares about a pair of street punks! Nobody's coming for us! They didn't care then and they certainly don't care now! I can't...” Red's voice breaks, and after a moment he says, “I can't save you. I couldn't even save myself.”

    Ruby says something softly that sounds like an apology, but it's too quiet to really hear through the door, even with my honed skills. Then stronger he says, “I shouldn't have said that. I'm just... I'm so scared.”

    “Me too,” comes the response, and there's more, but I'm moving out of range and I stop listening.

    I find Kip exactly where I left him. The blankets are pulled up now and there's a line of fluids dripping into his arm, but otherwise he doesn't appear to have moved at all. There is still a sick sheen to his skin and dark bags under his eyes. His breathing is rushed, like he's having a bad dream. I have to fight down the urge to reach out and shake his shoulder, knowing that it would be pointless. I stroke my fingers along his cheek instead, wishing that he would just open his eyes. When he gives no reaction, I turn and leave the room.

    There has to be something more that we can do for him.

    I go to find Zeke.

    As predicted, he's in his office. For once, he's in such a rush that he hasn't fully closed the door. There's a half-inch opening, allowing me more than enough to eavesdrop. I set myself down against the wall beside the opening and lean my head back against the wall. I let my eyes slide closed and listen. I'm not trying to hide. I don't really care if I get caught. I don't care much about anything.

    The only thing that matters is Kip.

    From inside the room, I hear Zeke say, “I need to take him to the hospital! I don't care about anything else! This isn't- It's not working! I can't do this! He needs help!”

    “And I'm telling you again, Zeke, that you'll get him killed immediately,” says a calm but firm female voice. “If you can track him, then anyone can track him. They won't hesitate to end him if they see him entering a public hospital.”

    “Then what do I do? Don't we- Don't we have someone we can call in? I won't watch him die!”

    “You need to calm down,” she cautions. “The boy is stable, correct?”

    Zeke hesitates, then says, “He's non-responsive.”

    “There could be a lot of reasons for that,” the woman responds. “It's not necessarily a reason to panic. It's an easy thing to fake...”

    “For fuck's sake Mari!” Zeke snarls. “He's not faking it!”

    “...or it could be a physical reaction to extreme stress. The fact is, there's no point in panicking until you get an actual diagnosis.”

    “Yes. Speaking of diagnosis.”

    The woman sighs.

    “I have my guys looking at what you sent me, but they can't find anything wrong so far. A lot of these tests take time, and we're limited by your experience and your equipment.”

    “Then send me someone who can work this shit!” he snarls, and there's the sound of him kicking something.

    “You know why I can't do that,” the woman responds, her tone grinding. “You already have the solution at hand. You're getting a scholarly asset, right? You just have to wait...”

    “Kip doesn't have time for me to wait!”

    “Then move up the timeline!” she grouses back. “Call and see if you can get an earlier meeting with the dealer!”

    “I don't... I don't even know how to get in contact. Kip handles the planning, talks to the other assets and gets things set up. He... There has to be a number here somewhere...”

    I get to my feet slowly. I'm suddenly exhausted. I put a hand on the wall and lean heavily while I find my feet. Then I walk slowly back down the hall. Questions buzz in my mind like noisy insects, but I ignore them. That woman and whatever motives she and Zeke have are of no relevance. The only thing that matters is Kip.

    I don't care about anything else.

    I make my way down to the medbay, and Kip is still exactly how I left him. Not that I expected anything else. The lights are too bright and they make his pale skin look almost as white as the sheets. I turn the lights down, until only the dim glow of the lights under the counter illuminate the room. I move to the side of Kip's bed and lay my hand on his lax, cold one. I keep my eyes on his chest, watching his breathing and reassuring myself with its steady rhythm. Then I lower the bed rail, kick off my shoes, and slip in beside him. I pull his unresponsive body against mine, curling around him while trying not to shift him too much. The fluid line snakes out from his opposite hand, and I'm careful not to jostle it. I pull his head onto my shoulder and kiss his forehead gently. He doesn't stir in my arms, and I try not to feel disappointed. I take a shaky breath and let my eyes slip closed.

    Whatever happens, we'll be together.

    I wake hours later. Kip is still dead weight in my arms. I shift and look around, feeling like something has changed. I find Zeke sitting in a chair on Kip's other side, his hand gently cradling Kip's, ever careful of the intravenous line in that hand. Zeke's eyes are half-lidded, his face tired. It looks like he's been there for a while.

    “Hey,” I say softly to let him know I'm awake. Zeke jumps and then straightens, coming more awake.

    “How's the head?” he asks.

    “Fine,” I respond. “I'm glad he stopped me.”

    “I knew you would be,” Zeke says, and it's reassuring. “You...”

    “I lost it.”

    “Yes.”

    There's an awkward quiet. There's so much between us right now – my instability, Kip's sickness, lies and deceptions on both sides. It's hard to find any one thing to settle on.

    “If that happens again,” I tell him softly, “don't play around with discipline. Just black me.”

    My words must take Zeke by surprise, because he gives a hysterical little chuckle and says, “Would you believe that I forgot I could? That it wasn't until it was all over that I realized it was an option?”

    Of course I believe it. Zeke's go-to for discipline has never been the chip. Maybe that's a weakness that we'll need to rectify in the future. In the heat of the moment like that, with so little experience in actually utilizing the chip, Zeke fell back on the technique that he was most familiar with.

    “It just happened so fast,” he says, his voice breathless.

    “Fights are always like that,” I respond gently.

    “Maybe with a... with you," he replies. I suppose I hadn't factored in my advanced speed and strength. It must have been nightmarish. 

    There's another silence, punctuated only by Kip's steady breathing.

    Finally, I ask, “What's the plan?”

    “I got the meeting moved up. I'll be leaving in the morning to see Ellaine.”

    “I'll be ready,” I assure him.

    “No.”

    “What?”

    “No, you're not going. She has asked that I come alone.”

    “That's insane!” I snarl. “It's obviously a trap.”

    “Perhaps,” he responds tiredly, “but I don't have a choice. Besides, I need you here in case...” In case something happens with Kip. “...It's just better that you stay here,” he finishes. I can tell that he's also thinking about earlier, about my murderous rage. I'd like to assure him that it won't happen again, but I don't know if I can control it.

    For the first time, I'm doubting myself, and it's come at the worst possible time.

    “Will you be able to get someone that can help Kip?” I ask him.

    “I will,” he promises. “The budget is a bit tight, but I'll do whatever I need to. There are other things I can offer besides money. I have significant holdings in land and goods on Earth. Getting them off-world is a challenge, but...”

    “Okay,” I cut him off. “You don't have to explain. I trust you.”

    There's another long, pregnant silence.

    Then he says, “No, you don't.”

    I wish I had the energy to lash out. To remind him that I'm not the only one keeping secrets, and that trust goes two ways. I want to summon the moral indignation to demand answers and hurl accusations.

    But with Kip's still form cradled in my arms, I just don't care about Zeke's schemes and lies anymore.

    I shift again, burying my face in Kip's neck, breathing in the lingering scent of his hair. On the other side, I hear Zeke shift and take a shaky breath. He must be leaning over Kip's hand, because his voice sounds much closer than before.

    “I'll fix this,” he promises. “I'll fix everything.”

    I can only hope he's telling the truth.


	24. Ellaine -Zeke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This chapter is un-betad (for now) as I just finished it, right now. I will be updating it once the betas have finished, but I wanted to post it today. As I've said, we're getting close to the end, but I'm still trying to put up chapters on time until the hiatus. Sorry about the lateness and sloppiness of this one. Hope you like it!
> 
> As always, my betas are the best, even when I don't give them enough time. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. I couldn't do it without them!
> 
>  
> 
> *Update - I have reposted the edited chapter, so if anything seems different, that could be why. Thank you for reading!

Ruby wakes us the next morning by bringing in a tray of coffee and muffins. Zero is still in the bed with Kip, wrapped around the blonde's smaller form like he can hold the life in him with his bare hands. I yawn and stretch, feeling my back ache from a night spent in an uncomfortable chair. My arm has fallen asleep, held at an awkward angle for hours while I clasped Kip's hand. I pull back reluctantly, knowing that soon I'll have to start getting ready to meet Ellaine.

Yesterday, during my panic, I had asked Mari for an emergency strategy to get Kip help. Her denial had been logical, but I was in no mood for logic. I railed at her for at least half an hour before giving up and taking her advice to move up my meeting with the scholarly dealer. I had eventually found Ellaine's contact information in my Key and used the number to ping her ship. A confused-looking asset had answered – apparently owners don't usually schedule their own meetings, but Zero was in no shape to do it and I couldn't trust Ruby or Red. I told the asset that Kip was indisposed at the moment, and I urgently needed to reschedule my meeting with Ellaine. I asked if it could be moved up, and he countered that we could do it as early as tomorrow if I were to come alone. At my questioning, he admitted that Ellaine was not comfortable around combat assets, and she would need time to vet extra security if I were bringing Zero.

It seemed like a flimsy excuse, but I didn't have any other options. So I agreed to come alone.

Red stands in the doorway while Ruby brings in the tray. Red keeps a wary eye on Zero, tensing when Zero sits up and accepts a cup of black coffee from Ruby. I can't blame Red. One of his first interactions with Zero, and Zero beats him up and tries to kill his boyfriend in a matter of seconds. The fact that either of them are even in the room now is probably a testament to how serious Red is about ingratiating them both and staying as my assets.

Zero flinches when he sees the bruising on Ruby's throat. Red notices, but I doubt he knows Zero well enough to read the regret in his features. I think Zero would apologize if he were better with words, but instead he takes the cup from Ruby and shrinks in on himself, his head down and his shoulders slumped. How do you apologize for losing your temper and almost killing someone? How can either of my new assets trust Zero, given what they've seen from him? And how do I get Ruby and Red trained with Kip out of commission and Zero on the verge of a breakdown?

It's all falling to pieces. I don't know why I thought I could do this. I don't know what to do now that I'm realizing that I can't.

I take a sip of my coffee and wince at the bitter taste. It must have brewed too long or with too many grounds. It's almost unpalatable, but I take another sip just to be polite. The muffins are better, with cinnamon swirls through them and a strong flavor of banana. They're a lot simpler than what Kip might make, but still pleasant.

I finish the muffin and stretch. There's an unpleasant taste in my mouth, which I attribute partially to not brushing my teeth last night and partially to Ruby's horrendous coffee. My head aches, but I push myself to my feet anyway. I wish I had time to get a little bit of sleep, but I need to start getting ready.

Zero, who was still reclining next to Kip, shifts restlessly as I stand.

“I should be coming with you,” he tells me with a tentative but sullen undertone. He doesn't like being left behind, but he also doesn't want to abandon Kip again.

“You're staying here,” I respond, my voice flat. I'm just too tired to argue with him.

“But...”

“Enough, Zero,” I snap, turning away from him. “Stay with Kip. Ruby will help me dress. I will return with a medical asset tonight. After that, we can deal with... everything else.”

I leave the room without turning again. I can't even look at him right now. I trusted him, and he helped Kip lie to me. He proved that he doesn't trust me, and that I can't rely on him blindly like I once did. Did he even consider that I might try to help? That I would do anything in my power to save them? Did he realize that Kip might be doing permanent damage to himself by ignoring his symptoms? Or think about the fact that Kip could die without treatment?

It's easier to focus on Zero's mistakes than my own. If I turn it around, I have to admit all the things that I didn't do.

I didn't notice Kip was getting sick again.

I didn't stop him from working himself into a coma.

I didn't prove that they could trust me to keep them safe and healthy.

I almost let Kip die.

Ruby follows me to my bedroom and waits while I shower, kneeling on the rug like Kip showed him. Red stays with him, imitating Ruby's actions but wincing at almost every movement. His face is less swollen than yesterday, but almost all of the skin I can see is bruised. He must be very determined to impress me, for him to work through so much pain.

In the shower, I take a minute just to breath.

I can't enter such a high-stakes meeting with Ellaine while my head is all scattered like this. I can't have the image of Kip's lifeless body imprinted behind my eyes when I try to talk to her. I need to clear my head and focus, or I'll never manage.

And the consequences if I fail are unthinkable.

It ends up being a good thing that Red came as well, because it takes two sets of unskilled hands to do the job that Kip normally does. I opt for something more formal for this meeting, given Ellaine's full length dress the last time we met. I choose dress slacks and a light blue button-down, along with a suit-jacket and leather dress shoes. I opt out of a tie, not wanting to come across as overly formal, but do add an etched leather belt and a set of platinum cuff-links. The impression that I make is important in that I need to balance my limited budget with the impression of wealth so as not to come off as desperate. Nothing shuts down the generosity of the upper classes like the perception of need, in my experience.

Ruby isn't tall enough to help me into the jacket, and I don't know where the stool that Kip uses is. Red holds the jacket for me instead, but I can tell that raising his arms hurts him. I know from my exam yesterday that his ribs aren't broken, but still severely bruised and painful. Ruby helps me with the shoes and the cuff-links, painfully awkward and unsure of his movements. These are things that Kip was just starting to teach him.

When I'm fully dressed, I dismiss Red and Ruby. Red really looks like he needs to lie down anyway, and I see Ruby settle under his arm and take some of his weight as they disappear out the door. With me leaving, it will give Red some much-needed time to recuperate. Without Zero's impressive recovery times, I don't know how long it will take Red to heal before he can train, and he'll need all the training hours he can get.

With them gone, I take some time to brush out my hair and apply a product that gives it a healthy glow and keeps it from frizzing. I apply a small amount of makeup to my face, just enough to cover how tired I look and any imperfections on my skin. Ellaine is already married and has shown no signs of sexual interest in me, so I'm not trying to attract her attention in that way. I have a feeling that my advances would be rebuffed anyway. So I cover just enough to make me look healthy and awake instead of wan and tired. It makes me look naturally more handsome and attractive, and like everything else lately it's contrived through artifice.

I suppose there's something to be said for how naturally this behavior comes to me, but I'm too exhausted to consider the implications. Suffice to say, it hasn't been as difficult as I feared to fit in with the other owners. Chillingly, it's been practically the opposite.

When I finally make it to the cargo bay, Zero is there, pacing like a caged animal near the entrance to the jump ship. He looks ragged in his rumpled clothes and his bloodshot eyes. The image isn't helped by the broken handcuffs dangling at his wrists and ankles like post-modernist jewelry. I wince, realizing that I never thought to instruct Ruby on how to properly restrain a zero when I tasked him with it last night. Nor did I think to question who released Zero when I found him once again at Kip’s side. I repress a sigh as I approach, noticing the dried blood lining the inside of one of the cuffs.

“Get Ruby to give you the key to those before you scratch Kip with them.”

“I was careful,” he protests sullenly, still shifting on his feet like he's unable to stay still. 

I expect him to continue, but nothing is forthcoming as he shifts in place and glares at the ground. I sigh out loud this time, then step around him to board the ship.

“Wait,” he snaps, his hand jumping to my wrist and stalling my progress. The broken cuff jangles as the snapped chain hits against the cuff piece. Zero's grip on my wrist is too tight. Not painful, but almost desperate in the way his arm tenses and the muscles stand out. It's like he's arm wrestling himself to keep from dragging me back.

“I don't want you to go alone,” he says, his voice so much softer than his usual tone. His dark eyes find mine, then guiltily shift back toward the entrance to the med-bay. His posture shifts subtly in that direction, like an unseen force is pulling him back. And yet he stays, blocking me from my exit.

“I am well aware of that,” I respond impatiently, “and yet I have no other choice.”

He shakes his head again, his restraining grip remaining firm.

“I don't...”

“Enough,” I cut him off. “I have to go. I don't have time to...”

His eyes dart to mine, wild and terrified. His grip goes even tighter, painful this time, and he yanks me a step toward him. His breathing is erratic, and for the first time I notice the tiny tremors running through him. How he's even on his feet is a wonder.

“I can't lose you too!” he snarls.

And then it clicks.

Kip is already down, his life hanging in the balance. Zero feels compelled to stay by his side, to protect him in whatever small way he can. And yet Zero left his post to come to me. Would probably even come with me if I allowed it. Because my life is just as valuable to him as Kip's, and because my life might be in just as much danger soon.

He's  _ worried _ about me.

I twist his grip on my wrist and use it to jerk him closer. He gives a startled gasp, but he isn't ready for the sudden move and he stumbles. I catch him, shifting until he's staring up at me. Then I lean over and capture his lips in a fierce kiss. He flinches, surprised and unbalanced, but then melts against me. His lips move against mine, his breath coming ragged against my face. He makes a noise, something thready and desperate. We separate and he takes three deep, panting breaths before surging at me again. Our lips meet fiercely, and all the mixed up emotions inside him make themselves known through that kiss. Zero needs an outlet, and I let him pour it all into me.

When I finally push him away, he's panting to the point of sobbing and shaking noticeably. I take his shoulders and gently but firmly push him back, until we have a few inches of space between us. He looks like a man on the ragged edge, his lips swollen and bruised, his eyes dark and haunted.

“I have to go,” I tell him gently. “You stay with Kip. Keep him safe. And when I come back, we'll make him better.”

He swallows hard and tries to speak, but no words come out. Instead, he nods once, sharply, and then kisses me gently on the cheek before pulling back. He finally releases his grip on my wrist and turns away from me. Without turning again, he slinks back into the medical bay and lets the door slide shut behind him.

I am alone as I board the jumpship and pilot it out. I realize that it is the first time I have truly been alone since Zero became mine. I'm unnerved by just how vulnerable it makes me feel. Before this, I never had a partner. I was always a lone operative. It was one of the reasons that I was chosen for this mission, because I could spend significant amounts of time under cover without the need to interact with other operatives. But I had also never been asked to get so close to anyone while pursuing a target. Everything is different with Kip and Zero. Who I am with them seems more real than the person I was before. And I'm not sure if I can ever go back, now that I know the difference.

I'm not sure I'll get the chance to go back, either. If I fail this mission, I won't survive, and I've been doing a poor job of managing myself lately. Everything is crumbling around me and I can feel myself being dragged down. But I struggle against the pull, knowing that if I fall I'll drag Zero and Kip down with me. If it weren't for them, I doubt I would have the strength to continue.

I arrive at Ellaine's coordinates in less time than I expected. I hadn't realized how close she was, and it seems likely that she must have moved her ship in my direction to make the journey shorter. Her home ship is enormous. Where mine is designed for a maximum occupancy of around twenty people, hers must fit at least a hundred, maybe more. I remind myself that it's not necessarily just a show of wealth and that her ship also functions as the base of operations for her business. I am led to believe that her scholarly assets are trained within her ship, so probably forty or fifty berths are dedicated to those assets and their trainers. The rest would probably be domestic and combat assets to serves as staff and security, leaving Ellaine with only a few extra spaces for herself and her guests.

I dock my ship with ease despite the fact that Zero has been doing most of the piloting lately. As expected of a ship this size, it has a roomy hanger and plenty of space for my small jump-ship. A domestic asset dressed in a white uniform greets me. I tense, wondering if I should be preparing for an attack given the suspicious caveat on my invitation, but the asset just smiles and leads me down a hallway into an elegant sitting room. Ellaine is at the table, a porcelain tea service laid out in front of her. There are three places set at the table, with Ellaine already occupying one.

I take a moment to take stock of my surroundings. The room is done in antique-style, with crisp, white wallpaper decorated with a golden leaf pattern. The furniture is a dark wood, maybe cherry or mahogany. Three high-backed chairs are placed at the round table, and Ellaine herself is seated at the other side. Two broad-shouldered assets in black uniforms stand behind her, their eyes trained on the opposite wall. With their similar features and far-away stares, they remind me of a pair of guard dogs more than security staff.

Ellaine herself remains seated at the table as I step into the room and let the door close behind me. Her long, black hair hangs down her shoulders in thick waves. She's in a navy blue dress that compliments her caramel-colored skin. It's floor-length and long-sleeved again, and I realize with relief that I'm in no way overdressed for this meeting. Despite her conservative clothing and her antique décor, she's young and quite pretty. She seems to be near my own age or a bit younger, and with a natural beauty despite very minimal makeup.

Her deep, brown eyes glance at me from under thick lashes and she smiles sweetly. She raises her hand and as I approach and I take it to kiss the back. She pulls it from my grip as soon as I'm finished, the lack of lingering touches reinforcing the fact that this is a business meeting more than a social call. Although in Leash society, it seems that the two are almost distinguishable. She gestures at the chair opposite hers and I take a seat, feeling the chair immediately force me into proper posture. This is, by far, the most formal and old-fashioned meeting that I've had with another owner in the Leash.

“It's nice to see you again, Mister Price,” she says as I settle at the table. Her voice is pleasant but there's no real warmth in it. “How do you like your tea?”

“Two sugars, please,” I respond politely. “Should I call you Misses Arcrest? Or will you be going by your given name?”

“Ellaine is fine,” she replies with a smile while she pours my tea.

“Then you must call me Zeke.”

“As you wish,” she says, and hands the cup to me.

“I want to thank you for extending your hospitality on such short notice. I apologize for making you reschedule.”

“It was no issue. I spend a lot of my time here.”

“I can see why. Your ship is lovely.”

“Thank you. I'll give you a tour of the training rooms later. I understand that you're looking for a scholarly asset, correct?”

“Yes, a medical scholar.”

“Ah,” she says, and then takes a sip of her tea. It would be rude to push the business when she has so obviously dropped the subject, so I grapple with my patience and let the topic slip away.

I keep my voice casual and continue with, “I must admit, I was surprised when I heard your request that I leave my zero behind. Surely you're aware that he's simply a pleasure asset, and of no threat to you.”

This time she smirks and says, “Let's be honest. Whatever you label him, we both know that your zero is dangerous, probably to the point of being unmanageable if he really puts his mind to it. The male owners see him as a caged animal that they can pretend to have control over, but you and I both know that his cage won't hold him if he really means to get free.”

I think of Zero's actions yesterday, of the lack of emotion on his face as he strangled Ruby, and I find myself nodding absently.

“I can understand your wariness. I see the danger as part of the appeal, but others may feel differently.”

“I prefer to have my assets thoroughly broken and tamed before I give them any freedom. Too much leniency and they become unmanageable.”

“A wise choice.” I hesitate and then add, “Perhaps it's best that I left him behind. I have a pair of new assets that he's keeping an eye on. A young domestic and a combat.”

“You made Dillon's pleasure asset into a domestic?”

“He doesn't have the temperament for pleasure. Pretty enough, but no grace or personality. And I already have two pleasure assets, so I didn't feel like pushing for a third.”

She nods and sips her tea again before asking, “How is the combat asset doing?”

“Well. He's still adjusting. I only purchased him yesterday.”

“Vikram thinks you're a fool,” she says with a smirk. “We spoke yesterday, after you 'bought one from the rubbish heap.' He thinks you've got no idea what you're doing.”

“Does he?” I suppose it's not surprising, after I negotiated for a deal on a trained combat asset and then turned around and not only bought the worst asset available, but took the worst deal to get him. “And what do you think?”

“I think you're running out of funds,” she replies, and there's a knowing smile on her face. “You certainly wouldn't be the first.”

“Why would you think that?” I ask carefully. Have I been so transparent?

Ellaine gives a small, feminine laugh before saying, “Don't worry, it isn't easy to tell. I'm simply more observant than most of the others. They all have other theories for your behavior. Vikram, as I said, thinks you're simply impulsive and foolish.”

Not far from the truth, on some accounts.

“My husband thinks you’re a good addition to our ranks, and you'll bring necessary leverage with the planetary council to our group.”

So Dillon is interested in me for my ties to Earth.

“James thinks the same thing, although he's more interested in tying his bar to your planetary exports.”

I’m already aware of James Peterson's interest in my Earth-made liquors, but I'm hesitant to smuggle my supplies for him. The fines if I were to be caught would far outweigh what he would be able to pay me.

“Jackson doesn't like you, but that could have more to do with the fact that Carter does like you than Jackson's own opinion. Their relationship has been hot and cold for a while now, but Jackson gets defensive when he sees anyone else moving in.”

That would explain Jackson's attitude at the party, at least.

“Did I miss anyone?” she asks with a teasing smile.

“Magdelene,” I put in after a moment. Ellaine titters again.

“Oh Maggie. She really just can't see past that pretty face of yours. Not that I blame her, you are quite handsome.” It comes out more like a statement of fact than a compliment, but I thank her for it anyway. She gives a delicate shrug and says, “I may not be interested, but I have eyes.”

“Not interested... in men?”

“In sex overall,” she corrects in a matter-of-fact manner. “I simply have no interest in copulation.”

“But your husband...”

“...Is very firmly homosexual,” she finishes for me. “I assure you, our marriage is one of convenience. We both benefit financially from the match.”

“I see.”

We lapse into silence, with the only noise being the clink of porcelain. I take a sip of my tea, having nearly forgotten it, and find that it has a nice citrus flavor. When I glance back, Ellaine's expression is serious. Almost sad.

“I want you to understand... all of this. I have to assume that our methods can seem quite monstrous at first.”

“I...”

“No,” she says calmly. “Let me finish.” Her eyes are far away, and it takes her several moments to continue. “Did you know that I was once a renowned philanthropist? I spent several years running group homes and shelters on my home satellite.”

“I had heard. You still run a series of homes, as I understand.”

“Yes,” she says softly. “Although now they serve a much different purpose.”

She lapses again, but I patiently wait her out.

“It happened when I was in my early twenties,” she says eventually, with a far-away air. “I worked in several of my shelters. It wasn't just a place I owned, I lived there. I offered food and shelter, job training and placement. My father didn't like it, but I wanted to be there with the people I was helping. I enjoyed it.”

She hesitates again.

“It was the boys that were the problem.” She gives a small smile. “It's always the boys that cause problems. One evening, while I was on my way back from authorizing funds at the market, they jumped me. I was taken by a group of over a dozen men, many of whom I had fed and sheltered in one of my homes. I'll spare you the details, but they captured me and held me for nearly two weeks. Several of them were on drugs and they made ransom demands of my father. They also raped me, with the intent of selling the video. Several times, I thought I would die. Toward the end, I wished I would.”

There's a moment of silence. I want to offer my condolences, but I... I don't really know what to say. I understand that kind of violence better than most, but there are no words that can truly offer her comfort. Also, I am bound by the role I am playing, and I hesitate to say anything that might cast suspicion on my persona. So I allow a moment of somber silence to pass.  

“My father found me eventually,” she continues in a more crisp tone. “He had all the men killed. Had the videos destroyed. Covered up the story with brutal efficiency. He couldn't have such a scandal affecting our family just before elections. Still, I was grateful to him. It was a side of my father that I had never seen before, but suddenly I understood him. I realized what he had been trying to tell me for ages.”

“And what was that?”

“People cannot be trusted to govern themselves. Evil finds its root in idleness. The young must be given purpose, and when they have none it must be forced upon them. I was evil in my younger days. My intentions were noble, but I only allowed the infestation to spread and fester.”

“I don't think you can be held accountable for outcomes beyond your control. Your intentions were noble.”

She shakes her head.

“Blind righteousness is no more ethical a goal than complete stagnation. It is the  _ results _ that matter. All of my earlier efforts were wasted on a plan that relied on people  _ wanting _ to improve themselves, but we cannot give them that option.”

“'Them' being the young, homeless males?”

“For now,” she says, and takes another sip of her tea. “They are the easiest to salvage and hold the most intrinsic potential and value. But, in general, I mean only the offal of society, jetsam in the current of humanity. We cannot rely on them to salvage themselves, but for the sake of society as a whole we must not let them sink and be lost.”

Salvage, in this definition, meaning forced enslavement. Damn, but she sounds so articulate and sincere. If I didn't already know what her solution is, I might be tempted believe her.

“Why are you telling me all this?” I wonder. It's an awful lot of personal information to be gained in our first meeting.

“Carter asked me to speak with you. He seems to think that you're having a hard time acclimating. The power that you now hold tends to be appealing at first, but many people can't manage it in the long run. It takes some adjustment.”

“It has been a bit shocking,” I admit, “but I don't think I've seen anything so far so horrifying as to make me bolt.”

“You've only seen the tip so far,” she tells me with a knowing smile. “Naturally, we don't introduce new owners to everything all at once. It would be too shocking. Instead, we lead you gradually toward areas that you already appear to have an interest in. That's why you've been asked to so many sexual performances but relatively few fighting ones.”

Well... shit.

“Not just that,” she continues, “but I'm afraid you will be rather shocked by my behavior as well. You see, after my traumatic experience, I couldn't stomach the idea of the men around me wielding such a loathsome weapon.”

She reaches behind her and gestures toward the pelvis of the guard to her right. Despite the think material and tight fit of the pants he's wearing, there is a noticeable lack of bulge now that my eyes have been drawn there.

Oh no.

“I see you understand,” Ellaine says, this time with a throatier, more honest laugh. “Most men react the same way you did when they find that I have my combat and domestic assets castrated. You should have seen Dillon's face when he learned.”

“All of them?” I find myself wondering, trying to regain my composure. “Even the scholar assets?”

“No,” she responds. “It's too traumatic for the scholars, especially when I keep them for such a short time. I tried with a few, but it just didn't work out. Instead, I have them all locked on a secure floor, which I never enter without at least two of my combat assets.”

“I see,” I reply, trying to keep the relief from my voice. I couldn't imagine taking in an asset who had been so brutally maimed and then asking him to cooperate with me.

“So then, about your finances,” she says, shifting topics again. “Since we're talking about my assets anyway, and you're here to purchase one. I think that you were doing alright with funds when you first arrived, but buying assets has been more expensive than you anticipated, even for untrained ones, and you still have to pay the entrance fee for the Competition.”

“If I enter this year, that is.”

“Oh, you'll be attempting it. You're amassing assets of different categories too fast for it to be anything else. You already have four assets, two of them cross-trained. A trainer-level domestic and a strong combat asset, and now you have a second domestic and combat asset for your two experienced assets to train. You've boxed yourself in, though, as you only have one slot in the team left. So really, you need a scholar/covert asset who could cross-train your two new assets in the open disciplines.”

“Is that an option?” I ask, leaning forward with sudden interest.

She smiles and says, “Sadly it is not. I don't cross-train my scholars. Although you do still have your spare slot open. You could put one of your current assets in the spare slot and bring in a covert for your team.”

“I would have to find the covert dealer, though, and I haven't even met him yet.”

“Her,” Ellaine corrects. “I believe you saw her at Dillon's party, although I don't think you got a chance to talk. Her name is Scarlette.”

“No, I haven't had the pleasure.” I kick myself, because I should have remembered that. If I hadn't gotten too damn drunk, maybe I could have made contact.

“I'm sure Dillon or Carter would introduce you if you asked, but then there's still the matter of funds. Coverts aren't much cheaper than scholarly.”

“I see,” I respond, trying to hide my disappointment.

“You know, you could always see about getting sponsored for the Competition,” she tells me. “Sometimes an existing owner will put up the funds for a new owner who wants to compete, and then takes a cut of the profits.”

“Do you think anyone would be interested in that arrangement with me? I've only been here a few months.”

“You've made quite an impression, though,” she counters. “Carter might, as he did something similar for Jackson last year.”

“Perhaps,” I hedge, uncertain. I hardly know Carter.

“Or Dillon,” she says after a moment of hesitation. “He might be willing. He seems to quite like you.”

That seems like a more promising possibility, although I don't doubt that Dillon will want something from me in exchange for the arrangement. He seems to be the type of man who gets everything he can out of his agreements.

Ellaine drains the last of her tea and sets the cup aside, glancing at the door.

“Well, we were waiting, but I suppose I shouldn't delay you any longer.”

“Waiting for...?”

Just then, the door opens and a child darts into the room. She has brown hair and tanned skin, but the resemblance in the eyes and face would be unmistakable even if she weren't squealing, “Mummy!” She looks to be around eight or nine, and her complexion is a good bit lighter than her mother's. She's in a knee-length dress that's similar in style to her mother's, although in a lighter shade of blue. Given the story that I've just been told and the child's apparent age, I can only assume that this child was born from her mother's unfortunate circumstances.

“I won!” the child finishes.

“That's wonderful, darling!” Ellaine responds, standing to give the child a hug. A domestic in a white uniform quietly trails into the room behind the child, closing the door behind him. “However, you're so late returning that you'll be having tea on your own.”

“Sorry, mama,” the child responds. “I wanted to see the other matches as well.”

“Mister Price,” Ellaine says, turning her attention to me, “I would like to introduce you to my daughter, Charity. She was at an Aikido competition this morning.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I respond, giving a bow to the child. She smiles and curtsies in response.

“Are you here to employ one of mama's students?” she asks innocently. I try not to cringe at the question.

“If one of them wants to come with me,” I reply.

“Speaking of which,” Ellaine says, “we have to be going, darling. I've already taken up enough of Zeke's time. Get some lunch and then make sure you get a bath. If you get your homework done early, we can go shopping this evening to celebrate.”

The little girl squeals in excitement and then darts back out the door as quickly as she had come, her skirt billowing behind her. The domestic asset bows to us and then turns to follow his mistress.

What a fucked up situation.

“If you would follow me,” Ellaine says, turning and leading me toward the door. I notice that her combat assets finally move as we turn to leave, following behind at a polite distance. “The scholars are kept on the floor below us. This way.”

We travel out of the room and down the corridor. There's a locked door at the end of the wall, which Ellaine unlocks with her key. We enter into an elevator, which I notice had only two levels on its destination controls. It seems that this particular lift only goes between the floor we were on and the housing for the scholars, keeping them secluded from other parts of the ship. It wouldn't surprise me if there were only a few entrances to this floor, for the sake of security.

When the doors open, the corridor that I can see forgoes all of the antique fixtures in place of modern austerity. The hall is done in plain white, the floor a tiled gray. The overhead lights are almost too bright, making the area seem coldly professional. The doors that line the hall are gray, sliding-type doors with a single, small viewing window. The even spacing reminds me of offices or classrooms. I suppose that's likely, given what this area is used for.

Ellaine starts forward and I follow her, with her combat assets following me.

“So,” she says casually as we walk, “you're looking for a medical scholar, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Competition ready?”

“If possible.

“And your budget is...?”

“Low,” I respond with a grimace. “I suppose when you look at it like that...”

“I think I have something for you,” she says calmly, a little smirk playing on her features. “I wouldn’t do this for most owners, but you seem like you enjoy a challenge.”

“Oh?”

“The asset was one of my best trainers for several years. Prior to becoming an asset, he worked as a surgeon on colony 8. He was a child prodigy and a certified genius. He speaks three languages and has studied martial arts since he was young. He's exactly what you're looking for, and I'm willing to part with him at a price that's more than fair.”

I swallow, hope warring with suspicion.

“What's the catch?”

She grins.

“He's in a self-induced coma.”


	25. Hollow - Zeke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This chapter is finally betad, so if you see any changes it's because I did have to edit and then repost. As I've said, we're getting close to the end, but I'm still trying to put up chapters on time until the hiatus. Sorry about the lateness and sloppiness of this one. Hope you like it!
> 
> As always, my betas are the best, even when I don't give them enough time. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. I couldn't do it without them!

What am I even doing? I don’t need a  _ second _ comatose asset. I can’t perform miracles. Why don’t I just tell her that I want a  _ conscious _ scholarly asset, and I’ll pay whatever it takes?

Because the price would likely put me out funds, I remind myself. And because I need enough money to get into the Competition this year, or I resign myself to suffer through a second year of this torment. On top of that, I probably can’t afford to buy one of Ellaine’s scholarly trainers, and her scholarly trainees might not be experienced enough to help Kip. It could be a waste of money that leaves me in the same position: Kip in a coma and no one able to help him.

This gamble might be my best shot.

These thoughts chase each other in my head while Ellaine shows me the training areas for her scholarly assets. The first room we enter has three rows of five desks, along with a large table and screen at the front. The desks have glass tops, likely touchscreens.

“Assets spend twelve hours a day in the classroom, broken up with three half-hour meal breaks and a half hour for physical exercise.”

“So fourteen hour days? That's rigorous.”

“They have two hours of free time and eight hours to sleep. I think that two hours of recreation is more than they need, but the trainers have argued that the assets need time outside of sleep to relax. Many of them choose to play sports, so really the time is dedicated to additional physical exertion.”

“Is that where they are now?”

“No, they've been excused for lunch.”

“And the trainers?”

“They keep the same schedule as the trainees.” She gestures at the board in the front of the room. “The trainers are able to write on the table here and it displays on the board behind me and on the individual desks.” She taps on the table top, bringing up a series of screens. “The trainers are also able to monitor each student from here. We use some of the best equipment on the market. Many of these students have never used anything this sophisticated and have to be trained on its basic functions before the actual lessons start.”

Down the side of the table, I see pictures of fifteen young men. The boy in the bottom spot, a teen with green eyes and sandy brown hair, is outlined in red.

“What does the ranking mean?” I ask curiously, gesturing at the line of pictures.

“It’s their general performance scores. We incentivize under-performers,” she says with that same smirk that I'm starting to loathe. “So the bottom ranking student at the end of the day gets disciplined.”

“That's a bit harsh, don't you think?”

“It's only a level five discipline,” she replies. “And I've found that fear is an excellent motivator. You can't argue with the results. I graduate ninety-five percent of my students in two years with a master's degree in their field. I even submit them to the review board on Satellite 30, so they receive full and legal certification.”

“And the other five percent?” I wonder. I can't imagine a woman like Ellaine offering remedial classes.

The smirk fades just a bit.

“Some students are simply not up the challenge. There are... casualties.”

“I see,” I respond, and I can't help but glance at the boy's face in the red box. I feel sick, wondering if he'll be one of the few who don't survive Ellaine's brutal care.

“If it's any consolation,” she says as she clears the screen, “he'd be dead long before now on the streets.”

“Of course,” I respond, but she's already turning and leading me back to the hall. We walk a few minutes until we round the bend into a second corridor, this one with the doors spaced closer together. Ellaine opens the door and reveals a simple, small room with two single beds and a video screen on the wall. It has the same dull white color on the walls and steel gray floors. The bed linens are in a dull, faded navy blue.

“The vid screen is to let them keep up with current events,” Ellaine explains. “Being removed from the world is not excuse to be ignorant of it. Many of them watch news in their free time, or less educational shows. I try not to micromanage their free time.”

I have a dissenting opinion of that, but I wisely keep it to myself.

Instead, I ask, “Two to a room? I was expecting a barracks of sorts.”

“No, too many of them in the same place without direct supervision just breeds dissension. We had to put a stop to that arrangement right away. We had a little better success in having each of the rooms house only one asset, but in the late term of the training our suicide rate skyrocketed. We were losing half the class to self-harm, loss of appetite, and general wasting.”

I can't say I'm surprised, given the circumstances.

“Eventually, we found that this is the best arrangement,” she continues as she pulls the door shut and turns to lead me back down the hall. “I house two assets to a room and make them each aware that they will be held responsible for the others' physical well-being. I found that not only do the assets harm themselves significantly less when they know it will bring punishment to their roommate as well, but that the roommate will try to bolster the spirits of any asset who is falling prey to depression.”

“And the roommates never try to take advantage? There aren't fights or squabbles.”

“They hardly have time for that sort of behavior,” she counters. “And also, the trainers monitor the sleeping quarters and handle any petty infractions that the assets might make. I know of more than one trainer who has stepped in and separated roommates at his own expense, by taking one of the beds for himself and isolating the other asset.”

From the sound of it, the trainers are a lot more invested in these assets' well-being than Ellaine, although that could be purely selfish in motives. Given how hard Ellaine is on the trainees, I have a hard time believing that the trainers wouldn't be equally punished if their class started to fail.

We double back and turn down another hallway, this one with those same doors spaced just a bit wider apart. Still, the cold uniformity of this place has already started to make me feel agitated and depressed. I can't imagine living here for two years, and under so much stress.

“This is the medical section of the training area,” she tells me. “It functions as a sick-bay, but more often it’s used as a lab for the medical scholars. Vikram just recently brought several of his new combat assets for treatment.” Probably the more heavily injured assets from the hazing I witnessed yesterday. “The medical assets will be practicing on them this evening before returning them tomorrow.”

“And the ones that can't be repaired?”

“They're used for dissection before being sold to the labs. Vikram gets more from the individual parts than the whole body, and I get a cut of the profit. He brings me his casualties as well.” My stomach lurches, thinking about how close Red was to being in those numbers. Thinking about all the men that I couldn't save who have already come through here. Thinking of all the ones who will come through here before this is finished.

Ellaine hesitates, glances at me before asking, “You aren't squeamish, are you? I wouldn't have broached the topic if I thought you were.”

“No, I'm not,” I assure her. At least, I never thought I was. At this point, I'm starting to wonder. Are squeamish and justifiably horrified the same thing?

“The topic of death makes some people uncomfortable,” she admits, “but I honestly don't see it as such an untouchable subject. And I certainly don't hold with the antique notion that corpses should be burned or buried. Such a waste.” She pauses in her steps and opens a door. “Here we are. Are you ready?”

“As I'll ever be.”

“Oh come on,” she says teasingly. “I thought you'd enjoy the challenge. You've gotten quite a reputation for rehabilitating broken assets.”

“I can only imagine that a woman as intelligent and resourceful as you wouldn't hand over one of her best assets unless the chances of rehabilitation are so minute that he's not worth keeping.”

Her smile widens and she says, “I can see that Vikram was wrong about you. Not foolish, simply impulsive.”

I don't have time for a rebuttal as she opens the door and leads me inside.

The room inside is dark, but stark overhead lights come on when we enter. The room is bare – white walls and hard, metallic flooring. There is a single, metal table along the back, a coiled hose, and a few square doors that look like they could cover refrigeration chambers for bodies. I have to assume that this room previously functioned as a dissection room. Now it is bare except for a single, naked form kneeling in the center of the room.

He's facing away from me, so at first I only get a view of matted, shoulder length black hair and pale, sickly-looking skin. There are faded purple and greenish bruises all down the length of his spine, long and thin like he'd been hit with a crop or a switch. As I approach, I note that his arms are rail-thin and the delicate bones of his wrists are evident. I circle around him slowly, and although my steps echo in the small room he shows no signs of hearing me.

From the front, his condition is no better. His wasted appearance is only amplified by the outline of ribs I can see through his skin. His hands are near skeletal, although there seems to be some muscle still clinging on around his upper arms and shoulders. If I had to guess, I'd assume that he was very fit before his self-imposed hunger strike, but rapid weight loss caused his already trim body to become emaciated. It seems, however, that his body has not yet managed to fully deteriorate and absorb his muscles, leaving him with a bit of whipcord strength in his depleted body.

He has a round face and a narrow chin, evident even with his sallow skin and hollow cheeks. His eyes, sunken and bruised from exhaustion, are heavily slanted and half-open. The irises peeking from within are deep brown, pupils blown wide from the darkness. Not a clone, then, but to find such strongly Asian features he must be from a very old colony with little or no outside interaction. I've heard that there are some isolated, traditional societies in the outer reaches, but little is known about them.

I crouch down in front of him, settling on the balls of my feet, and look into his face. Given his ethnicity and health, it's difficult to pin down an age range, but I'd guess that he's nearly my age or even a bit older. I'm aware that scholarly assets have a much longer life expectancy than other type of assets. Despite his health, his posture is straight, his legs folded neatly underneath him, his hands upturned on his knees. On his wrists, I see round, red spots that look like burns, although I haven't the foggiest idea what could have caused them. His countenance, though relaxed, still looks somehow cold and severe. His face, skin pulled tight over his gaunt features, doesn't appear to lend itself much to smiling. Or perhaps it's simply the background that makes him seem so dour and aloof.

There is a small tube running from his right nostril and across his face until it wraps behind his ear and ends by his shoulder. I ignore it, assuming that its purpose is feeding and hydrating him. It's the only explanation for how he's managed to stay alive after being catatonic for so long. Careful not to jar the tube, I wave a hand as close to his face as I can without touching, then snap my fingers in front of his eyes. He does not blink or show any other reaction.

It's like he's just a shell. Empty. Hollow.

“How do I know he's actually in there?” I ask Ellaine, who has perched herself on the edge of the metal table. She picks something up and approaches, and I watch her shine a penlight into his eyes.

“You can see that his pupils still dilate normally,” she says as I watch his pupils contract into tiny black spots. “At first we were concerned about brain damage, but all of our numerous scans came back normal. He does not react to stimuli, although scans show that his neuro-receptors are functioning normally.”

“What kind of stimulants have you tried?”

“At first, I thought I could wait him out. We isolated and monitored him, but he never moved, not even to eat or drink,” she responds. “When he was severely dehydrated, I pulled him out and had him put on fluids. When he was stable, I had him flogged. I thought that if he were faking, a flogging should have brought him out of it.” That explains the bruises on his back. “He didn't react to it, nor did he have any reaction to electro-stimulation.” The burns on his wrist must be the contact points for that particular brand of torture. “As a last effort, I tried to discipline him with the chip, but it still didn't bring him out. Eventually, we had to place the nasogastric tube to keep him alive. He gets morning feedings that are just enough to keep him alive.” She waves her hand at the asset distastefully. “We hose him down every couple days for sanitation, but even the cold spray does not rouse him.”

“So how do you know he's not a vegetable?” I ask. This situation seems hopeless.

“You'll notice his position,” she says. “He invariably returns to that position.”

“You've seen him move on his own?” I ask. In reply, Ellaine places one high-heeled shoe on his shoulder and shoves the asset, knocking him onto his side.

“Watch him,” she instructs. “He always comes back into the kneeling position.”

And sure enough, with painful slowness, the asset's shaking form returns to its former position.

His face never loses that vacant stare.

“Damn,” I curse. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

“Nothing,” Ellaine responds, and she resumes her perch on the table with that damnable smirk on her face. “There's nothing wrong with him.”

I give her a flat look and she laughs out loud.

“This is the fun part,” she says, her grin still firmly in place. She leans her chin on her hand, bracing her arm on her knee, and smiles at me. “In his years of martial arts practice, meditation was a key part of his training. This is the position he always used when he meditated.”

“So he's put himself... into a trance?”

“Yes, or something very similar. Our scans show that his brain activity is very similar to someone in a deep, dreaming sleep. The pain receptors in his brain are functioning, but it just can't reach him. Nothing can reach him.”

“And you're hoping that I can?” I ask, exasperated.

“Isn't that what you're good at?” she responds, smirking still. “Salvaging assets that everyone else has given up on?”

I bite down on a snappy response. She's right, of course. Between Zero and Kip, I created a reputation of rehabilitating broken assets. By taking in Red, I have likely cemented the idea that I enjoy the challenge. To contradict it now would make me seem weak. Unstable.

“This asset might be... more work than I had hoped for.”

She nods once, but says nothing.

My legs are starting to ache, so I shift onto my knees. It puts me almost nose-to-nose with the man. Even with his eyes only inches from my own, still I can see no spark of life in them. They're hollow, like the eyes of a doll. I move my hand to his face and lift his chin, but still there is no change.

“Can you give me a moment alone with him?” I ask. I'm not naive enough to think that we aren't being monitored, but perhaps without Ellaine's imposing presence in the room I'll have a chance at getting a response.

“As you wish,” she agrees easily. She slides off of the table and starts toward the door, where her two guards are waiting in the hall.

“Does he have a name?” I ask as she goes, realizing suddenly that I have nothing to call him by.

“His name is Zhang Xui-Li,” she responds, “but he went by Lee to keep the students from butchering his given name.”

Then she pulls the door shut behind her, leaving me alone with him.

“Lee?” I call gently, already knowing how pointless it is. If electric shocks and starvation didn't rouse him, what chance do I have? But I have to try. If I don't take this one, buying another scholarly asset will sink my budget for the year. I won't be able to come up with the money to compete – probably won't even be able to find the money to buy the last asset I'm allowed. More than that, I highly doubt that Ellaine might be willing to part with another trainer, and I don't think her students will have the knowledge necessary to help Kip.

It  _ has _ to be this asset.

Somehow, I have to make it work.

“Lee!” I call again, this time more sharply. I snap my fingers in front of his face and shake his shoulder roughly, but to no avail.

“I want to get out you of here,” I try to explain. “Ellaine has agreed to sell you to me. I can promise that you'll be treated better with me than you were here.”

Empty words and promises, I'm not surprised when they elicit no reaction.

“I just need you to give me some kind of sign that you're in there. Anything. Any sign that my words are reaching you.”

He's silent and still as a corpse. If not for the rise and fall of his chest, I might mistake him for one. The only sound in the echoing chamber is the noise of his short, even breaths. I listen, but not even that changes pace as I wait for a response.

“Damn it,” I curse, laying my palm on his cheek, opposite from the tube that stretches across his face. His skin feels cold and waxen below my fingers, and I really wish that I had a coat to wrap him in. Not that he'd notice that, either.

Is a chance at a slave this experienced better than the guarantee of an inferior asset? Should I skip this asset and hope that one of Ellaine's students might be skilled enough to help Kip? Which is the farther hope? That this asset will miraculously wake up, or that a novice doctor can pull my asset out of his coma?

“Just a sign,” I beg. “Any sign that you can hear me.”

Still nothing. I sit for long moments, hoping against hope that something will happen to give me confidence in this option. Still, nothing comes. And knowing that Ellaine is awaiting me in the hall, I eventually realize that I can't do this. There's just too much risk with this asset. I'll just have to buy one of the trainees and hope for the best. It will likely delay me from the Competition until the next year, but it can't be helped. There's nothing else that I can do. I can't... I won't watch Kip die, not if I have any option to prevent it.

I sigh as I pull my hand from his cheek, wishing I could help him somehow. I have to admire his resourcefulness, to take an impossible situation and find the only way out. Drawing my hand away pulls a strand of hair from behind his ear to settle over his face, directly in front of his unblinking eye. Without really thinking about it, I lean forward and stroke the hair back, starting at the crown of his head and following the shape of his face with my fingertips until they come to rest just under his chin.

His breathing stutters, and I feel a tremor run through him.

“What the fuck?” I murmur, trying to control my reaction with the awareness that we're likely still being watched. What the hell does that mean? What just happened?

I repeat my tests from before – snapping my fingers, waving my hand in front of his face, shaking him – but to no avail. He is a statue again.

Could he be a plant? Another test? But if they wanted me to take him, why all the extras? Why concoct a story that he's broken when I'm obviously in need of a capable medic? Why wait until I've all but decided to pass on him to show a reaction? And why return to the statue now? Why continue the charade?

In desperation, I repeat the motion, stroking his face from crown to chin with slow, shaking fingers. Dare I hope that this is the key that has eluded Ellaine? My fingers reach his chin and – yes, there it is again. A shuddering breath, a tremor of movement, and definite fluttering of the eyelashes, all so slight as to be nearly invisible. If I were any further away, I might have missed them altogether.

I back off and climb to my feet. If he is truly waking, I don't want to prompt it in front of Ellaine and have her rethink our negotiations. I can only pray that it isn't wistful thinking that has colored my perception of the situation. If I purchase him now and can't wake him later, then all will be lost.

But I have to try.


	26. Awakening - Zeke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This chapter is un-betad (for now) as I just finished it, right now. I will be updating it once the betas have finished, but I wanted to post it today. As I've said, we're getting close to the end, but I'm still trying to put up chapters on time until the hiatus. Sorry about the lateness and sloppiness of this one. Hope you like it!
> 
> As always, my betas are the best, even when I don't give them enough time. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. I couldn't do it without them!
> 
> I also want to remind everyone that we are closing in on the end of this section, so be prepared! I'm think two or three more chapters, maybe four at the most! I will miss you all while I am on hiatus, but it is an unfortunate necessity for the posting schedule that I like to keep. 
> 
> Finally, I have some great new artwork from Nasinix! If you haven't seen this beautiful painting already, check it out [ here! ](http://img14.deviantart.net/6af1/i/2017/080/4/9/in_a_jumpship_by_nasinix-db320bs.jpg)

I open the door and find Ellaine still waiting there for me, bracketed by her two guards.

“I'll take him,” I tell her at once. “Just name your price.”

She smiles widely.

“So confident of your skills, Zeke?” she asks. “But I don't want to sell him to you. He's a gift.”

“I don't understand,” I respond. She loops her arm casually through mine and leads me away from the room, away from Lee's kneeling and catatonic form.

“But...” I hesitate, casting a glance back at the room.

“Don't worry,” Ellaine assures. “My assets are going to clean him up and get him moved down to your ship. Come. I thought we could walk through my garden before you depart.”

“Of course, ma'am. I'd be delighted.”

She leads me down the hall and back into the elevator, still trailed by her two guards. The doors open onto another floor and seemingly another world. A winding path leads away from the elevator, lined on both sides with flowering trees. Ellaine leads me out, taking my arm again, and her guards trail at a polite distance.

“That asset is invaluable when he's awake,” Ellaine explains. “Right now, he's completely worthless. But we're in a very strange in-between place at the moment. If I sell him to you cheap and you manage to rehabilitate him, then I look stupid. If I sell him to you for what he's worth and he never wakes up, then I look like I'm taking advantage of you. So let's remove that whole situation.” She waves her hand as if brushing it away. “I'll gift that asset to you as a magnanimous gesture because I understand that you're in need of one.”

“Why would you think that I'm in need?” I ask. She smirks again. It gives me the unchivalrous impulse to trip her.

“I'm a perceptive woman,” she tells me. “Please don't think that I believe your 'pressing engagement' excuse for why you needed to reschedule our meeting. Let me guess – one of your assets is ill. Not the zero, as you were planning to bring him. Could be the new combat, but... no. Vikram would have mentioned if he were dangerously injured. And the pleasure asset from Dillon was in perfect health when you got him, so I doubt you've injured him extensively already. Then that only leaves...” she pauses dramatically, “...your sickly domestic.”

Fuck.

She laughs, I have to assume from the expression of consternation on my face, because I make certain not to say anything in reply.

“A pity,” she goes on, “because he's one of your best competitors, isn't he? Carmě's little chef that you got at a steal because he was too ill to work. These late-batch clones can have such capricious health, you know.”

“So I've heard,” I respond.

“You may think I'm being cruel,” she says on a more serious note, “but if anyone can fix him, it's Lee. He's an encyclopedia of knowledge, and he has some of the most skilled hands in a surgeon that I've ever seen. I would offer a different asset if I thought he might be of use to you, but I don't have any available trainees with enough skill to handle this and you can't afford my trainers.”

I hadn't wanted her to know that I'm here because one of my assets is dying. I certainly hadn't wanted to admit that it's Kip, one of my best contenders. Now that the knowledge is out, though, perhaps it's a blessing.

“What if I brought him to you?” I ask. “Could you diagnose and fix him here? In case Lee doesn't recover?”

She shakes her head, a somber expression on her face.

“The trainers don't have time to take on a patient, and I wouldn't trust the trainees to practice on a Competition asset. If something happened to him, I can imagine that you'd throw a fit about the quality of my service, and I can't have that. You can take him to Reynard if you're looking for a standard diagnosis – Reynard has a couple passable medical assets on his staff. He won't do long-term care, though, and I imagine that your clone won't be a simple fix.”

“No,” I respond. “Probably not.”

Kip deserves better than a “passable” doctor.

“Lee really is your best shot,” Ellaine tells me. “As I said, he's got ages more clinical experience than any of my others.”

“I'm curious as to how you came by him. He's too old for you to have trained here, I should think.”

“Now that's an interesting story. Sadly, we haven't time for much of it. If you haven't guessed already, Lee came from a very traditional satellite. Safe to say that he had some ideas about the socio-economic disparity that landed him in my grasp. A satellite with a social order that rigid can't abide by any heretical views. However, their loss was my gain. I don't know if I could have gotten this program off the ground without him. His knowledge of surgical procedure was... well, that was all before his breakdown, though.”

“I had assumed,” I respond dryly.

“I know it might be hard to see now, but I truly am doing you a favor. If Lee wakes up, he's exactly what you're in need of. I think that a change of ownership and scenery might wake Lee up, and then you'll have another Competition-ready asset without expending any funds.”

Actually... that sounds like a suspiciously good deal.

“Why are you doing me such a favor?” I ask. “I mean, wouldn't it be better for you to just kill him if he's no use to you? What do you gain from giving him to me?”

She gives me a sharp frown and says, “I can't abide by waste. It would be such a shame to let all of that talent just disappear.”

“And what do you get out of this arrangement?”

“Let's just say,” she responds, a smile returning to her face, “that it think it would be a good idea to ingratiate myself with you. I think you are going to gain a lot of influence around here very quickly, and I would like us to start out on the right foot.”

That could easily be a perfectly innocent comment. She could be seeing how quickly I've risen through the ranks and be looking to form ties with me. However, given how perceptive she is, I have to wonder if she might know more than she's letting on. Could she be suspicious of me already? Could my odd purchases have given her cause to suspect? But why would she try to get closer if she thought I might be a spy?

“There is another thing,” she says after a moment. “Carter has asked me to set up a meeting with you. As I've said, he's quite interested in you.”

“I'm not sure I should entangle myself in such a complicated situation,” I respond. “Doesn't he already have a boyfriend?”

“You mean Jackson? No. They sleep together, but it's not a proprietary relationship.”

“Jackson certainly seemed upset by my presence at the Arcrest hunt.”

She laughs.

“Of course he was. Unlike Carter and I, who are established champions in our own right, Jackson is fairly new as an owner. And you are not only direct competition for him, but you're also very likely to show him up if you succeed this year. Jackson was in a very similar position last year, only he failed to win the Competition. He's been bitter about it, and you're rubbing his nose it.”

Well... that certainly explains a lot.

“Don't you think pursuing Carter will only make it worse?”

She shrugs.

“Do you care?”

And... no. She's right. I really don't.

“Alright,” I agree. “Just tell me where and when.”

“I'll have his assets contact you in a couple days. I think he's looking at sometime next week.” She gives me a sly smile and says, “It also wouldn't hurt for you to keep in touch with my husband, now that you know our arrangement. I think you two would... get along.”

There's a sexual undertone to her comment that I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable with. I still haven't decided how I should handle sexual relationships with other owners. I have enough evidence to know that it's done, but I'm not sure what the social repercussions are. Would I lose face if I slept with Dillion? Or is it simply another step in making ties within the Leash?

I can't admit any of these concerns to Ellaine, so I respond with, “Of course.”

Regardless of the sexual aspects, I need to meet up with Dillion now that I know there's a possibility of getting him to sponsor me. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to make contact with Carter either, wade into the waters and see what's lurking under the surface.

“Excellent,” she says, and by this time we've made a circle of the garden and we're back at the entrance. “Then this is where I leave you. As you heard earlier, I have a shopping date with a darling little nine-year-old. Your asset will be waiting for transfer at your ship. I'm so glad we had this time to chat.”

The elevator doors slide open, and I put my hand out to stop the doors from closing again, but I make no move to board.

“This all seems too easy,” I tell her, leaning against the elevator.

“Easy?” she laughs incredulously. “The hardest part is yet to come. And let me give you a piece of advice before you go. Lee is not someone to underestimate. If you do manage to wake him up, make sure he's restrained first. He's at least as dangerous as your zero, if not more.”

Then she places a hand on my chest and shoves me. I'm unprepared, and I stumble back into the elevator. She's still grinning as the doors slide shut. It takes me until the elevator stops again to pick myself up. I feel so completely out-classed at this point.

Lee is laid out on the floor in the cargo hold by my ship. He's in white scrubs, with a white sheet separating him from the dirty floor. His hair is wet but still matted. There's a guard already in his mouth, and I notice that the tube in his nose has been removed as well. Great. So if I don't manage to wake him up within a couple days, he'll likely starve to death.

Two of Ellaine's combat assets bracket him. I kneel next to Lee, and one of them approaches. He hands me Lee's code and I read it quickly, wanting this to be over. I have a split second to wonder if this might jar Lee from his state, but I remind myself that Ellaine certainly attempted to use the chip to wake him. Then Lee's body jerks, and it's a bit like watching someone have a seizure. His eyes stay closed, and though his body jerks and thrashes he doesn't seem to experience any pain.

When it drops him, I pull the gag off immediately and am relieved to find him breathing. Given the trauma he may have suffered with Ellaine, I was concerned that the transfer might have been too much for him. I name him and give him a new code, then carry him into the ship. He hardly weighs anything, his body dead-weight in my arms. I settle his unresistant form into a seat and buckle him in. Taking Ellaine's warning to heart, I also tie his hands, just in case he wakes up while we're in transit. That, and because there's still the possibility that he's been planted to kill me.

The jump ship is eerily quiet as I pilot it away from Ellaine's massive cruiser. It takes a while for my ears to stop ringing and my head to stop spinning. I don't really notice until her ship is practically a memory, but when the silence finally registers it's echoingly hollow. I'm once again overwhelmed with the feeling of being isolated, although this time I'm not actually alone.

“I suppose you're not much of a conversationalist,” I joke to fill the silence. “At least right now.”

I could cue up some music, but somehow it feels like it would only mask the silence instead of filling it. Still, as soon as I stop talking the silence fills back in and seems almost more noticeable than before, so I find myself talking just to fill the void.

“I'm not sure if you can hear me,” I continue with the disturbing sensation that I'm talking to myself, “but I thought I should introduce myself. I'm Zeke Price. I'm... well, I'm new to all this. Still trying to figure out how to fit in, honestly. Feeling a little out of my depth after that whole thing.”

I let the silence settle again, lost in my thoughts, but it's too much before long.

“It won't be like it was with Ellaine,” I call to him. “I don't mistreat my assets. They're all quite happy with me.”

That makes me hesitate, thinking about the state of my assets currently.

“I mean, I thought they were quite happy. Now I'm... less certain.” I hesitate and say, “but I'm going to fix it. I just need to keep a better eye on them.”

I wish I could feel more confident about that. I mean... I thought I was. I thought everything was going well. I thought I could trust my assets to back me up. Now I find out that not only was Kip deteriorating without even telling me, but Zero was at least complacent with Kip's secret, if not actively helping to conceal it. Do they trust me? Can I trust them? I just don't know any more.

No.

I can't think like that.

It's not their fault. I haven't told them anything. They're  _ supposed _ to distrust me. I should have expected something like this.

I should have done better for them.

“You remind me of my fighting asset,” I say eventually. “He's the serious type, too. Although he seems to be developing a sense of humor lately. It takes a bit of getting used to. He's fiercely protective and loyal to a fault, though.”

I pause for thought, wondering just how far Zero's loyalty has stretched lately. With Kip pulling him in one direction and me pulling him in the other, did he feel stretched to the brink? Is that why he snapped and attacked Ruby? Can I even imagine the strain he was under? Trying to protect me, trying to protect Kip, trying to protect Kip from me, trying to protect Kip from himself? And when Kip finally collapsed, what could that have been like for Zero? Knowing that his loyalty to Kip brought him to ruin? Knowing his loyalty to me could have saved Kip?

And Kip...

“My domestic asset is really just the kindest, most self-sacrificing person I've ever met,” I admit out loud. “The fact that I've failed him to this extent is one of my deepest regrets so far. If I can't save him... If I can't rouse you enough to help him... I don't know if I'll be able to continue.”

My chest feels tight, and I have to give myself a moment just to listen to the quiet. But eventually it becomes oppressive again.

“I don't know too much about my newest boys yet,” I tell him, trying to lighten my own mood. “Ruby is a bit of a handful. Red seems like he might be a stabilizing influence, but that has yet to be seen.”

Another pause that stretches too long and echoes with silence.

“I wasn't expecting to have two untrained assets with me. It's been quite an adjustment. They both need so much training and...” I hesitate. “One of my trainers is down, the other won't leave his side.”

It reminds me that Zero hasn't started training Red yet, and the two of them are bound to be uneasy around each other since Zero attacked Ruby. And Ruby's training won't resume until Kip recovers, however long that takes, and it definitely seems like Ruby could use a lot more training.

And all this is predicated on me waking up the corpse in the passenger seat behind me, and then hoping that he has the skill to revive Kip.

“This conversation is starting to feel really one-sided!” I growl at the back seat. “You know, you could contribute!”

The silence is just as blank as before, but somehow it aggravates me.

“This is stupid,” I mutter to myself. “You're almost home. You should wait for Zero before trying to wake this asset up. It's too risky to try it now.”

Thinking about Zero only makes me realize that not only am I returning to the ship without help, but I'm going to have to admit to him the huge gamble I took with this asset. I can hardly imagine his reaction, although I have to assume somewhere in the range of “not good.”

“You know, some kind of acknowledgment would be appreciated!”

Still no reaction. Frustrated, I shove myself away from the controls and unbuckle my seat belt. I pace to the back of the ship and kneel in front of my newest asset. Lee's blank face stares at me, his eyes still empty and half-lidded.

“I know you're in there,” I tell him sternly. “Whatever act you were putting on with Ellaine, it isn't going to work any more.”

The steady, even breathing continues. There's not even a a flicker of alertness. I tap him on the cheek a couple times, trying to see if I can startle him awake, but still no response.

“I can't show up with a half-dead asset,” I plead. “I need you to wake up.”

Still, the asset it unmoved. We're getting close, and the thought of having to explain this to Zero makes me run unsteady fingers through my bang and rub a hand over my eyes.

“Damn it,” I curse softly, feeling hopelessness as I look into those blank, sunken eyes. “What am I going to do?”

There's no reply, and I feel the minutes continue to tick away as I start at that face, hoping for any sign of consciousness. Sometimes I murmur pleas or give barked demands, but all the while I watch him for any sign like the one I saw earlier. One that I'm thinking more and more than maybe I imagined.

Hopelessness cascades over me as I hear the autopilot move the landing gear into position. We're only a few minutes from reaching our destination, and still it seems that I will return home empty-handed. I'm half convinced that the look of disappointment on Zero's face will break me, if my own disappointment doesn't take me first.

Maybe out of sheer desperation, I take my fingers and draw them gently around his face again, from the top of his forehead down to the underside of his chin.

His body trembles for just an instant, and I think I see his eyes move ever so slightly.

“Fucking hell,” I gasp. “Am I making this up?”

I run my fingers around his face again, holding my breath as I dare to hope. There it is, that same shift and a more pronounced flutter of his eyelashes. I do it a third time, and now I'm certain I saw movement. With each brush of my hand, it's like I'm wiping away the cobwebs and he's coming a bit closer to wakefulness. I keep up the gentle stroking, whispering soothing words to him, until eventually he takes a shuddering breath and his eyes close entirely.

I wait as his bound hands ball into firsts and his head raises out of its slumped position.

He opens his eyes.

Suddenly I'm pinned by angry, intelligent, hate-filled brown eyes. The sheer intensity of his anger makes me fall back from him, and suddenly Ellaine's warning about his combat skills surges into my mind.

And I'm thinking this might not have been such a good idea.


	27. A Stunning Defeat - Zero POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming down to the last few chapters! Heartbreaking as it is, I still feel a great sense of accomplishment at having completed another section. I think we've got two, maybe three more chapters to go. Thanks for sticking with me! 
> 
> As always, betas are the absolute best. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. I couldn't do it without them!

I'm in the cargo hold the moment Zeke's ship comes in, pacing nervously. I'm relieved to have him back so quickly – a few hours with the Scholarly dealer, enough time for him to make a deal but not enough for me to become concerned – but something doesn't feel right. Incoming transmissions show me that the ship is on autopilot, and Zeke rarely leaves the navigation equipment alone to land the jump ship. Then again, I'm usually the one piloting.

The ship deploys its landing gear and settles with a hiss. I pace nervously, but nothing happens. Finally, I go to the external controls and force the rear hatch to open. There's another hiss of hydraulics and the door opens slowly, lowering from the top. As soon as there's a crack wide enough, I hear shouting voices and the sound of an impact against the door, making the ship shake.

An attack? Damn it, I never should have let Zeke go alone!

I jump and wrap my hands around the ledge of the door, forcing it down with my weight. The lever system breaks with a snap and the door drops to the floor. Zeke tumbles out, apparently he'd been pinned against the door when it opened, and I scramble onto the ramp. I manage to grab him just before he can hit the ground and I spin us, putting myself between him and the ship.

When I turn back, the attacker is crouched at the top of the ramp. He isn't what I expect – scrawny and sickly-looking, dressed in white scrubs and no shoes. There's a piece of rope in his hands, which he tosses aside as I watch. He looks tired and haggard, but his expression is alert and fierce.

“Who told you how to do that?” he snarls, and it takes me a moment to realize that he's talking to Zeke. “How did you find out?”

“I didn't...” Zeke coughs, his voice sounding rough and gravely. I realize that the attacker must have tried to strangle Zeke with the rope he was holding. I tense in anger, gritting my teeth. Who does this asshole think he is? How dare he attack my owner like that!

“No one told me what to do,” Zeke tries again, his voice still rough. “It was coincidence that I...”

“No one has that much blind luck!” the man in white cuts him off. “Enough lies!”

I've had enough of this guy's mouth. I charge up the broken ramp, ignoring Zeke's shouted, “No! Don't!”

The man in white doesn't rise to meet me, instead ducking under my fist and putting space between us. When I jab again, he blocks it with his arm, knocking my fist to the side. I throw a kick at him but he slides under it and shoves me from behind, knocking me back down the ramp. I fall and roll to minimize the impact, coming back to my feet with an angry snarl. I turn to find him walking casually down the ramp, his brown eyes on me and ignoring Zeke. I'm relieved to have his attention on me, but a bit unnerved by how easily he managed to evade my blows. This isn't an opponent to be taken lightly.

“You must be Zero,” the man in white says evenly. As close as we are, I can see his strongly Asian features and can tell that he's a bit older than I originally assumed. Given how nimble he is, I would have placed him closer to my age, but he seems close to or possibly older than Zeke. A lifetime of training might explain his skill, but I have no idea why someone would send an assassin in such bad shape, or why the assassin would wait so long to finish the job. If I'm having trouble defeating him, Zeke wouldn't have a chance. And how the hell does he know who I am?

“I don't want to fight you,” he continues, “but I will not be party to this abomination any longer. Leave me in peace, and I will do the same for you.”

It's on the tip of my tongue to ask him what the hell he's talking about. Then I spare a glance at Zeke, still watching us warily from the sidelines with one hand rubbing his injured throat, and I realize it doesn't matter. I'm not letting this guy walk away from the fight after what he did to my owner.

“Fuck off,” I snap, balling my fists and moving back into a fighting stance. He nods once, resignation on his face like he was expecting that answer, and falls back into his crouch. His hands come up as fists, but not in the normal way. His first two knuckles on each hand are popped out in a way that could injure him if he landed a strong punch. It seems bizarre to me, but he holds the pose in a comfortable manner that tells me he's be practicing for a long time.

When I move, he doesn't try to hit me. Instead, he slides to the side and dodges my punches, rolling under my leg when I throw a kick at his head and then coming up behind me again. Before I can turn, I feel two sharp jabs to my lower back. It's not even enough to knock me forward, but suddenly an intense, stabbing pain lances through me and I stumble, falling to my knees. Pins and needles lance down my legs and I find myself unable to control them. I try to push myself up, but my legs won't obey any of my commands. The other fighter seems unsurprised by this development and turns away from me, putting his back to me and laying his sights on Zeke.

I can't move. What the hell did he do? Fuck! I can't move!

“Zeke!” I yell. “Get out of here! Get into the medbay and pull the emergency lock!”

But Zeke is backing away from the assassin, further from the medbay door. He's trapping himself in a corner and there's nothing I can do about it.

“Just calm down,” Zeke tries to reason with the attacker. “I didn't want it to go like this.”

“I honestly don't care what you want,” the attacker responds, his voice eerily even and calm. “I'm done playing these games.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” Zeke says, his hands raised in supplication.

“Of course you do,” the man argues. “Why else would I be here? That's all you people do, hurt and destroy.”

“I'm not like them!” Zeke tries to convince him. “I don't want-...”

“Enough of your lies!” the attacker snarls, lunging at Zeke. I can only jerk myself forward, my legs still refusing to cooperate. Zeke jumps back, but then collides with the wall behind him. There's nowhere for him to run. There's no way for him to fight off an attacker this skilled. And there's nothing I can do about it!

My heart is hammering in my chest, but Zeke looks calm and resigned. Resigned to what? What am I missing here? Then the man in white has Zeke's shirt in his fist, and it's too late for me to help. The attacker could break Zeke’s neck before I could even cross the room, if my legs were working. In my current state, there's nothing I can do but watch.

“Lee, sensory deactivation!” Zeke commands.

To my shock, the figure in white drops like a stone, hitting the floor with a loud thud and remaining totally motionless.

But that only works on...

on…

…

…

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snarl. “He's your new fucking  _ asset? _ ”

“Zero,” Zeke responds, his voice raspy and a little breathless, “meet Lee. He's our scholar.”

Seconds tick by and I'm so irate that I can't even form words. I grind my teeth together until Zeke eventually approaches me.

“Zero?” he asks hesitantly. “Are you... hurt?”

“I thought he was going to kill you!” I snarl. “I thought he was an assassin!”

“I... I'm sorry. I didn't know he'd react like that...”

“What the hell were you thinking?” I growl. “Why wouldn't you bind him for the trip?”

“I  _ did _ bind him! I tied his wrists before we left!”

“You gave him the rope he strangled you with? Are you fucking nuts?”

“Obviously I didn't think he'd do that!” Zeke snaps, then takes a breath and rubs at his eyes. “I must not have bound him well enough. I didn't know if he'd wake up and...”

“Wake up?” I interrupt. “Wake up from what?”

“He was... in a sort of trance when I first arrived. He was non-responsive.”

I gape at him.

“You bought an unconscious scholarly asset?”

“It was self-induced.”

“That doesn't make it better! There was no guarantee that you could break it!”

“Well, I did break it,” he snaps back, losing patience.

“And then he attacked you!” I snarl. “ _ This _ is the guy you got to help Kip? He's more likely to finish him off!”

“He was the only choice!” Zeke snarls, then visibly takes a breath and reins his temper. “He was the only asset with enough experience to help Kip that Ellaine was willing to sell. All of the others were too new, and I was afraid they would do more damage than good.”

“Oh,” I respond in a small voice, feeling deflated. I should have known better than to question Zeke's judgment at this point. Of course he wouldn't take a risk like this with Kip's life if there were any other choice.

“How are your legs?” Zeke asks after a couple seconds of quiet. I have enough feeling back in them to shift them around to the front.

“Whatever he did, it's fading. He must have popped me in a nerve or something. I've never seen anything like it.”

I glance at the new asset with interest, where he still lies sprawled on the floor. He belongs to Zeke now, could he teach me... No. I can't be concerned with trivial things like that. If he can save Kip, that's all that matters.

“Help me up,” I ask, holding my hand out. Zeke takes it and helps me to my feet. I stagger a bit trying to get my legs to work. It feels like I've been sitting for a long time in an awkward position, but eventually they hold my weight. “Can you carry him?” I ask, not trusting myself yet. Zeke nods once and then lifts the smaller man in his arms, barely struggling with the awkward weight.

“He's lighter than you were when you first came here,” Zeke says, turning back to me with Lee in his arms. There's a bruise spreading across Lee's cheek, probably from where he impacted the ground. It doesn't look serious, but it does make a stark contrast on his pallid skin.

“Where should we put him?” I ask.

“I don't know,” Zeke sighs. “It's not like we've got a holding pen and I don't want to risk putting him in the medbay with how erratic he's acting.”

“We have a holding cell.”

“The playroom isn't really designed for that sort of thing,” Zeke denies. “I don't want it associated with actual...”

“Not there,” I respond, and Zeke throws me a confused look. “I welded some metal pipes to the support beams in one of the storage closets. It should hold him.”

I lead the way to the end of the hall, on the other side of the servant's quarters. There's a closet there that's about half the size of one of the rooms, with a single sink and several rows of shelving. On the outside wall, I've removed the shelves and exposed the inside beams – the ones I can drill into without worrying about puncturing the hull. Then I soldered a pair of horizontal metal pipes between the two beams at ankle and shoulder height, allowing me to handcuff someone in a standing, fully restrained position.

“When did you do this?” Zeke asks.

“After you brought Ruby back,” I reply. “I figured if you were going to keep bringing back new assets, we might need a place to put one if they got out of hand.”

I realize with a sharp jab of irony that it's a good thing I didn't tell Zeke about building this, or I probably would have found myself restrained in my own prison after attacking Ruby.

“We won't be able to leave him like this for long,” Zeke cautions even while he's moving to stand Lee up and lean him against the exposed metal of the interior wall. “You can't restrain him in a standing position indefinitely.”

“We just need enough time to wake him up and let him calm down,” I respond. “Once he knows what we need, he's not going to fight us.”

There's a moment of quiet hesitation from Zeke while I snap Lee's wrists and ankles into the cuffs. He sags against them, but the wall behind him takes some of the weight.

“I'm not sure it's going to be that easy,” Zeke says quietly. “He didn't seem terribly cooperative a few minutes ago.”

“He's a doctor,” I remind Zeke with a shrug. “This is what he does.”

“Being a doctor is not like being a toaster,” Zeke responds irritably. “You can't just push his button and make him work. He has a choice in the matter.”

“Then I'll force him to make the right one!” I snarl.

“Yes,” Zeke grinds, “which would be a great plan, except that if you injure him then he'll be unable to help Kip.”

I throw my hands into the air.

“So what do you want to do? Talk him into submission?”

“I don't know!” he yells. Then more quietly he says, “I don't know, Zero. I'm trying to figure it out.”

“Fine,” I growl, “but I can't stand here and watch him do nothing. I'll be with Kip if you need me.”

I stalk out of the room, not daring to look back. If I saw Zeke bring that pretentious asshole out of the black, I might not be able to keep from losing my temper again. Our only hope for saving Kip, and he's already attacked our owner and put me on my ass. If Zeke can't get him to cooperate, I'm not sure what I'll do. I'm not sure what I can do that would actually help.

I head back to the medbay. I haven't been gone from Kip's side for more than an hour, but already I'm feeling uneasy about it. I don't like leaving Kip alone right now. What if he wakes and no one's there? What if he hurts himself?

But someone is there when I walk in. Ruby is sitting at Kip's bedside, one of Kip's hands held loosely in his own.

“What are you doing in here?” I ask sharply, probably more sharply than I'd intended. I'm still keyed up from the fight.

Ruby's head jerks up and he looks startled. In the melee, I had forgotten about Ruby and Red even being here, but the dark bruising around Ruby's throat brings back all the events of the previous day. It's pretty daring for him to even be here, given that he knows how often I'm by Kip's side. He must have been waiting for me to leave. For a second, I wonder if he might bolt from the room, but then he grits his teeth and his expression morphs into a glare.

“I'm allowed to be in here!” he states harshly, his voice only a little raspy from the damage. “I'm worried about Kip too, you know! He was really nice to me, even though I'm a lousy student. I never wanted anything to happen to him!”

“If you're here out of guilt, you can stuff it and go,” I tell him, taking my usual seat beside the bed. I still haven't forgotten that, even if he meant no harm by it, Ruby's actions are the reason Kip was left alone and almost died. I'm not sure if I can truly forgive that, not when Kip's life still hangs in the balance.

Still sitting across from me, Ruby's expression goes from angry to spitting mad.

“Hey, fuck you!” he snarls. “Kip's my friend, too!” I make a derisive noise, and Ruby surges to his feet, knocking his chair over behind him. He looks angry enough to throw a punch, with his hands balling into fists as his sides. I can only hope. It would do my ego some good to have someone that I can easily overcome, given the offhanded defeat that Lee just gave me. He looks like a half-starved corpse and still managed to put me on my ass with no problems. Somehow, he slipped under my guard and found all of my vulnerable points. Am I getting that weak? Or is he simply that good?

“Ruby,” comes a deep voice from the doorway, and I see Red leaning against the frame. “Come on, leave him alone. He's upset about Kip, he doesn't need you makin' it worse.”

“I wasn't...” Ruby starts, then seems to deflate. I see his jaw clench, but he turns and rights his chair before slinking out of the room with his hands stuffed in his pockets. I take note that he's still wearing the ill-fitting clothes that Kip appropriated from my wardrobe when we first got him.

“You shouldn't be so hard on him,” Red tells me when Ruby has disappeared around the corner. His voice is soft, almost tentative, and I'm reminded again that in our first true interaction, I tried to kill his boyfriend. “He really is worried about Kip.”

“I... am aware of that,” I admit reluctantly. For all my anger, I know Ruby didn't actually mean any harm to come to Kip. That his actions were reckless and immature, but with no true malice. It doesn't make the results any easier to accept, though. “If he wants to sit with Kip, I will let you know the next time I leave. I don't think it's a good idea to put the two of us in close proximity right now.”

I glance at Red, who gives a curt nod of acceptance before turning away from me. I notice that Red is also badly dressed, with his clothes being overly tight and, given the size and style, probably coming from the back of Master Zeke's closet. I haven't even spared a thought for stopping to get them clothes. It hits me with a sudden sharpness that Kip is always the one who plans these trips, makes sure the right things get purchased, and the bills are processed. I don't even know where to start with it.

“You have to come back,” I plead with him softly, lacing our fingers together. “I don't know what we're going to do without you.”

The only response is the sound of Kip's quiet breathing and the echoing silence.

Hours later, I'm still sitting at Kip's side when Zeke makes his entrance. He flops immediately into the chair nearest to the door and runs an unsteady hand through his hair. I can tell from his posture and the fact that he's alone that he hasn't convinced our medical asset to cooperate.

“How'd it go?” I ask, turning to look at him.

“Not well,” he responds dryly. “In short, he doesn't believe that I just stumbled onto the trigger to wake him up. He's claiming I must have gotten the information off of someone. He believes that all owners are the 'putrefied waste of a corrupt and indifferent society.' He won't do anything to help me.”

“Not even to save your asset's life?”

“Especially not that. Apparently, his efforts so far have only 'fed the disease and allowed the putrefaction to spread.' He won't do anything that might inadvertently help me.”

Zeke puts his head back against the wall behind him and lets out a long breath.

“The only positive news that I gleaned tonight,” Zeke says at length, “is that he can't immediately go back into the trance. It seems like it takes a level of concentration and time that he simply doesn't have right now. He appeared to be attempting it while I was talking to him, but he couldn't manage while I was distracting him.”

“I see,” I respond. I don't really know what else to say.

“How's Kip?” Zeke asks.

“No change,” I respond, “but I'm not sure how long that will last.”

“I know,” Zeke says quietly. “We're running out of time and I...” He rubs his face again, blowing out an irritated breath. I can see how tight his shoulders are, how stressed and upset he is. He's truly trying, but he's not getting anywhere with this new asset.

The unstoppable force meets the immovable object.

And Kip, caught between them in the current.

“You need to take a break,” I tell him, although it pains me to say it. The last thing I want is for this to take longer, but nothing else is working. “Step back and think about this problem from a different angle.”

“That's probably wise,” Zeke says, and there's a defeated slump to his shoulder. “I'm going to shower and then try to get a little sleep. Would you... come with me?”

My first impulse is to say no, that I need to stay with Kip. Then I remind myself that I'm not actually doing Kip any good by sitting here, and that at least helping Zeke to unwind might help Kip in the long run.

“Send a message to Ruby,” I find myself saying. “Ask him to come sit with Kip.”

Zeke nods and goes to the wall panel to message Ruby. They must have been in their room on this floor, because it's only a few minutes later that I hear the soft pad of Ruby's steps. Ruby waits in the doorway as Zeke and I exit the room, then moves inside and takes my place by Kip. I don't say anything to him as he passes. What is there to say?

The trip upstairs passes in silence. I know that we're both exhausted, but somehow the strain that Zeke is under seems to be worse. Maybe his interactions with Ellaine were more stressful than he anticipated. When we finally reach the lavish, waterfall-style shower in the Master's chambers, I strip quickly and start the water. Zeke undresses more slowly, like his limbs are heavier than usual. I step into the shower, letting the hot water bite into my skin. The room quickly fills with steam, and there's a heavy mist in the air by the time Zeke steps into the water.

The shower itself is easily large enough that Zeke and I could be at opposite ends without even brushing against each other. Still, Zeke finds his way under the stream that I'm under and plasters himself to my back, his taller form leaning on mine. I turn around so that I can face him, and his expression is so tired and so desperate. Like a man clinging to the side of a cliff for hours with no help in sight.

It frightens me to see Zeke so hopeless. He's supposed to fix everything.

There's an impulse to lean in and kiss him that I give in to without a second thought. His lips touch mine and he crumbles, clinging to me with that same desperation that I saw on his face. His arms go too tight around me, but I don't pull away. His tongue invades my mouth, his hand goes to my cock and he strokes it into hardness. It's never been this fast and desperate before, but I can't find it in me to protest. Zeke's cock digs into my hip and I grind against him, winning a moan from him as he buries his fingers in my short hair. He kisses me again, hard and deep, rutting against my leg.

Then he breaks the kiss and pulls back, leaning over one of the nearby shelves. He comes back with his fingers coated in something viscous and glistening. His cock has a thin layer of slick covering it as well. Without warning, he wraps his other arm around my waist and lifts me onto one of the rock outcroppings that serve as shelves. This one is empty and I perch on the ledge, bringing my feet up to brace beside me, throwing my bent knees open wide to expose my entrance. I'm bent in half and practically flat against the wall, with only Zeke's form to brace against to keep me from sliding off the ledge. It's not the most comfortable position, but any reservations I have fly from my mind when his finger circles my hole and then pushes inside, only to be joined a moment later by a second. Heat builds in my gut and I want to thrust against those fingers, but my current position makes it almost impossible.

“Enough teasing!” I growl, and Zeke must agree because his fingers are almost immediately gone. They're replaced by his lubricated cock as it presses against my stretched hole. I pant with eagerness but Zeke pushes in with deliberate slowness. When he's finally seated I throw my legs around him, bracing on the edge of my seat.

“Come on,” I growl as he hesitates, and I feel him shiver against me, enjoying the sensation of being buried inside me. It takes several breaths for him to acquiesce to my demands, but finally he pulls his cock out and slams back in, my legs pulling him in as he rocks against me. My hand goes to my cock, the other wrapped around his shoulders, and for once Zeke lets me handle my own orgasm, his hands firmly planted on my hips. I groan and stroke at a frenzied pace, using my legs to encourage Zeke to go deeper. Harder. I just need to feel this, to feel nothing but this, for a moment.

I come with a strangled yell, coating Zeke's chest in thick, white lines. My legs sag, and I ride out the orgasm as Zeke finds his own quick, shallow pace. He kisses me as he comes, and I swallow his groan of release. He stills with me still pinned against the wall, his softening cock slipping slowly from my body.

Eventually, I have to prod him to let me down. Whatever he had been running on, it seems like the orgasm used up the last of it. I nudge him under the water and have to physically put the shampoo in his hands before he starts to wash his hair. I run a cloth over the rest of him and, having never paid much attention to his normal shower routine, decide that it's probably good enough.

“Bed,” I demand, pushing him out of the shower. We forgo the bath towels in favor of the air dryer and Zeke doesn't protest even though I know he prefers the towels. His hair dries more slowly than the rest of him, and he rouses himself enough to run a brush through it while we're waiting for it to go from soaking to damp. He's still quiet and docile as I precede him back into the bedroom, and he practically falls into bed when I lift the covers for him.

    I think about leaving, but Zeke takes my hand and pulls me down. I don’t have it in me to deny him this small thing, after everything he’s been through today, and I slip into bed beside him. He pulls me against his chest and I curl there, tucked under his chin. It gives me an unfortunately close view of the bruising around his neck from where Lee tried to choke him earlier. I brush my fingers along the edge of the straight, purple line that wraps around the front of his throat. Without allowing myself to second guess the action, I lean forward and lay a gentle kiss along the line. An apology? I should have been with him. Should have protected him. Instead, I stayed to guard Kip and ran the risk of losing them both. I give myself a moment to realize just how close I came. 

When I manage to pull my eyes away from the bruising, I find Zeke peering down at me, his sleepy eyes still holding a strange intensity. 

“You know that I'm doing everything I can to help Kip, don't you?” Zeke asks, and there's an almost desperate note to his voice.

My mind goes to the half-heard, cryptic conversation that he had yesterday. Where he argued with that woman about taking Kip to a hospital. I've always known that Zeke is different from other owners, but... not this different. Not different enough to be taking orders from an unknown entity. Is he infiltrating this organization? But who would send him? And why? There are a myriad of ways that owners control each other, so I can only assume that this outsider is using the similar tactics - blackmail, hostage, or incentive - to gain Zeke’s cooperation. 

    What could be the goal, though? Who is this woman? Who does she report to? Is she the leader of the group or just a member of a larger network? Her words implied heavily that there were others helping her, whether or not they are members of her organization is still unclear. Zeke’s investigation of Ruby's chip leads me to believe that he's after the tech that the Leash uses, but surely he's not naive enough to think that they'd let him have it. I also don't believe that he'd simply abandon me and Kip once he reached his goal, so I don't understand what his goal is. He can’t think that the Leash will let him leave with us either? Not alive, anyway. 

It's evident that Zeke is working under constraints that are not his own. Whatever he's gotten himself into, whatever secrets he's hiding from us, evidence has shown that he's putting our welfare first.

“I know that you're doing everything in your power to save Kip. Get some rest,” I tell him gently, giving him a gentle kiss. “You'll have a better plan once you've slept.”

“I hope so,” he says with a melancholy air, but he closes his eyes and is almost immediately asleep.

I give it a few minutes before I slip out of the bed. Zeke is so deeply asleep that he doesn’t even stir as I shift my weight off of him and climb out of the bed. I feel almost reluctant to leave him, but I know that I won’t be able to sleep. And right now, I think I’m more useful watching Kip sleep than watching Zeke.

I take the long way back to the medbay, keeping my steps slow and even. My thoughts chase each other, with too many variables to manage. Zeke's ulterior motives. The new asset's baffling refusal to help. Kip's mysterious illness. All these questions that I have no answer for.

My back hurts when I walk, each step sending a new ache through my lower back. It reminds me of how easily beaten I was this morning. Given the proximity to my spine, the new asset could have just as easily broken my back as disabled me. I feel sick with shame. All this bravado as “the last zero” and yet I was easily defeated when it really counted. Maybe all this time as a pleasure asset really has made me weak and lazy.

It makes me wonder again about Lee. With all his skills, he could have easily killed me, and yet he didn't even permanently harm me. It's hard to believe that he doesn't know a quicker way to kill someone than strangulation, so I have to wonder... was he pulling his punches with Master as well? Hoping for what? To be sent back to Ellaine? To be killed? Or maybe just to be left alone long enough to go back into his trance?

He could have killed us, but he chose not to. Even though I attacked him. Even though he likely won't get another chance at Master Zeke. Even though he had no idea what we intended for him or what we would do to him. Maybe it isn't Zeke who needs to look at this a different way. Maybe it's me.

Without really letting myself think about the plan, I head down to the bottom level and find myself in front of the storage closet where we're holding the scholarly asset.

I give myself one last, fleeting moment to wonder if this is a good idea, and then I push the door open.


	28. Zero and Lee - Zero POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I wanted to make sure I got this chapter out on time, so it is being posted even though it is unbetaed, AND I haven't fixed the last chapter yet, AND I haven't finished responding to reviews. I am WAAAAAY behind... but at least the chapter is coming on time, right? :/
> 
> As as side note, we have ONE or TWO chapters left in this section, depending on how it goes. I know hiatus sucks, but apparently I really need it. (I am SO behind! Lol.)
> 
> As always, my betas are the best, even when I don't give them enough time. All the thanks to Akira, Deb, SiaB, LivyC, Ygrainne, and NarrowDoorways for their amazing efforts. I couldn't do it without them!

In the storage room that I've converted into a prison cell, I find Lee sitting on the floor. His knees are pulled up to his chest, his ankles still held in handcuffs attached to the metal bar I installed. The cuffs on the top bar are gone – Zeke must have unlocked them so that Lee didn't have to stand. I notice after a moment that Lee's left arm is held awkwardly, half wrapped around him but with his hand lying near his foot. It takes me a minute to realize that Zeke only freed one of his wrists, that the other is now held in a handcuff attached next to his foot. I find the key to the cuffs on the shelf by the door and put it in my pocket. I wonder if Zeke managed to find the key and return it, or if he had to go all the way to the playroom to get a spare. I don't remember showing him where it was.

Lee is turned as far away from the wall as possible in his bindings, putting his left side parallel to the outside wall and having him face the wall to my right. There's a puddle of water near him, an empty glass lying on its side. I know that Zeke isn't sadistic. It's more likely that the glass was filled when he left, and Lee knocked it over out of... what? Spite? Willfulness? Resistance? His motives are still a mystery to me.

Lee's face is pillowed on his knees, turned sideways so that he can watch the door, but his eyes are closed. Curled into such a small shape, he looks younger than before. Without the cold, disconnected expression, he seems more human. I close the door behind me and I see his eyes blink open. I'm surprised by the depth of the weariness that I find there. It's the face of a man who has given up in every way short of breathing. Maybe it's too late. Maybe there's nothing left to save.

No. I was this lost when Zeke found me, too. We can fix this. We can save him.

“If you've come to beat me into submission,” he says, “then I would prefer that you begin immediately. I imagine that it will take a while.”

“Do you have something better to do?” I ask.

He stares in response.

I suppose the joke was... ill-timed.

“I just want to talk,” I tell him quietly.

Careful not to sit in the water, I settle myself cross-legged on the floor. After a moment of thought, I move the empty water glass out of his reach. It's real glass, and Zeke must not have been thinking very well in his lethargy, because the shards could make dangerous weapons if Lee had a mind to hurt someone. He's already proven himself a dangerous fighter even when unarmed.

“When you first got off the ship, you called me Zero as a name, not a title,” I tell him. “Did Zeke speak with you?”

“Is this an interrogation?” he snaps. “I have nothing to hide.”

“I am here on my own,” I tell him. “Zeke has not sent me. I just want to talk. I want to... understand you.”

I can tell that he doesn't believe me. There's quiet for several seconds, until I think he might not answer at all. Finally, he says, “Owners tend to believe that just because I'm non-responsive, I'm incognizant as well. This is not the case. Your owner spoke, perhaps more to himself than to me, but I listened.”

“Is that how you knew of me?”

“Yes.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“I am aware of the other three slaves in residence.”

“Do you know why Zeke brought you here?”

“Yes,” he answers simply.

When nothing else is forthcoming, I tell him, “Zeke brought you here to save one of his assets. He's dying, and we need your help.”

“Your owner brought me here,” Lee counters bitterly, “to save his investment. The life of that asset is an unintended by-product of your owner's true intention. I will not be party to this corruption any longer.”

“So you still refuse to help us?” I ask.

“I will not use my skills at the service of our oppressors. Yes, I refuse to help.”

I feel strangely disconnected from my emotions. I knew that I would have to remain calm in talking to Lee, that losing my temper and harming him would result in Kip's almost certain death. And yet I expected his refusal to sting in some way, because I care so deeply for Kip. Perhaps it's because Lee is not speaking of Kip directly. Lee only sees a generic asset and a typical owner. Perhaps that's the entire problem here.

“Even if those skills can save the life of an innocent?” I ask.

Lee looks like he's swallowed something bitter and he turns his face back to his knees. Still, I can hear his determined, “Yes,” even through the muffling of the fabric.

I nod, but make no move. After several seconds, I'm still sitting on the floor, staring at him. It suddenly seems very difficult to enact the plan that I formulated, even though the actual steps are practically effortless. But it is a large risk, and I am unused to taking these kinds of leaps of faith. Zeke is the one who makes the impulsive decisions, and I am the one who thinks everything through and rationalizes down to the most minute detail. I can't logically justify this course of action. I find myself second guessing my plan entirely.

“Is that all?” the scholar drawls. “Or is the silent staring an intimidation tactic?”

I'm quiet for several heartbeats longer, but finally his word spur me on. I have to do  _ something _ .

“You could have killed me earlier,” I point out. “You chose not to.”

“Was that a question? Yes.”

“Anyone else would have taken me out, eliminated the threat.”

He makes a sound that is tired and a bit sad. He keeps his eyes closed as he murmurs, “My actions are not prompted by malice. I do not wish to bring harm to innocents.”

I make a sound of derision at being called an innocent, but let the comment pass. Instead, I ask, “And Zeke doesn't qualify? He hasn't hurt you.”

“A man who would sully himself by treating another human as chattel is not an innocent! If I had the chance, I would have removed him from this world as a service to mankind. I am not naive. I am not a pacifist.”

I had expected the sentiment, but the overt threat to Zeke still makes me bristle. More harshly than I intend, I snap, “Then what are you?”

His eyes open, but they seem far away. I shift closer, but he doesn't take notice of me.

“A healer,” he says after some time has passed. “I was a healer, once.”

“But no longer?” I prompt.

“I no longer believe that I am helping those that I heal. If you mend a plant, it grows. What the owners ask me to do... it's like fixing a machine. I mend the broken part and they return to their duties, grinding away until another part gives out. No. I will allow my skills to be used in that way no longer.”

“It's different here,” I tell him, trying to make him believe me. I wish that Kip could do this. Kip always knows what to say in these situations, always knows how to word things.

“Is it?” he asks, his voice biting again. “Do the bonds of servitude hang a little looser? Does the master give a few more superficial freedoms? Will I be asked when I want to take a piss? Or sleep? Or eat?” His eyes snap open, and there is a spark of righteous fury there. “We have done nothing wrong! We are imprisoned like criminals, but it is our oppressors who are truly guilty! The cruelty that they put their slaves through...” And then he trails off, and it's like watching a fire being snuffed by a wet cloth. His eyes close, and his shoulders sag.

For several seconds, I think he might have over exerted himself and passed out. Then his eyes blink open and find me, the weariness firmly back in place.

“You would think,” he says softly, “that after all these years, I would be accustomed to the kind of cruelty that humans can inflict on one another. And yet it still surprises me, still horrifies me. This is why I do not use my skills. In the end, there is no benefit to the slave by extending his misery a few more years.”

“What if it isn't misery? What if it's a life worth leading?”

“A life in bondage is no true life. You cannot find joy while held in the fist of a monster.”

“You're wrong.”

I lean down without giving myself time for more second thoughts and unlock his bindings. The key is electronic and I only have to get it close and press a button, and the cuffs pop open. I return the key to my pocket and rise to my feet, waiting for a response from Lee. I didn't imagine that he would surge to his feet, but I did expect some kind of movement. Instead, Lee seems to shrink into himself further.

“Come with me,” I instruct, trying to prompt a reaction.

Lee gives a sigh, as though he'd expected this but hoped it wouldn't happen. He twitches the unlocked cuffs from his wrist and ankles, but still makes no move to rise.

“It will not change my mind.”

“Maybe,” I respond, “but I have to try.”

He's quiet for several more seconds, still making no move to get up.

“Do I have to drag you?” I ask, letting some of my annoyance color my voice.

“I cannot stand,” he admits.

I cock my head and observe him, wondering if this is a trick. Any other situation, and I would believe he was trying to get me close so that he could attack me. Here, though, what would be the gain?

“You soundly defeated me only a few hours ago. Now you would have me believe that you're too weak to get up?”

“Your downfall was your own foolishness,” he shoots back angrily. “You did not anticipate an opponent more skilled or faster than you. You charged in blindly, and all I had to do was evade your grasp until you left an opening in your guard. Make no mistake, if you had laid a hand on me, then I would have lost the battle.”

“So I'm not useless as a fighter?” I find myself asking, then kick myself for it. That isn't what's important right now!

I hear Lee make a sound of amusement and see that he's smirking at me.

“Bruised your ego, did I?” he asks.

“Something like that,” I respond. It's hard for me to admit just how deeply that defeat shook me. Harder still to realize that, despite my training as a pleasure asset and all Zeke's efforts to show me differently, I still define myself by my value as a fighter.

“You are not without some skill,” Lee admits ruefully. “If you hadn't charged in so blindly, I had no doubt you would have defeated me. Your talents seem somewhat... rough. Unpracticed.”

“I have not had an opponent in several months,” I admit to him. “Even before Zeke took me in, few people attempt to willingly fight a zero. And before that I suffered a serious injury. I have not been able to re-acclimate.”

He nods his head sagely, understanding probably better than most what it takes to readjust a fighting style to an injury or the constant effort it takes to keep a body honed to perfect condition. I have a bitter moment of wishing that Master could understand as well. Then I shake it off.

We don't have time for my identity crisis right now.

“You were walking just fine when you first arrived,” I point out.

Lee bristles and hisses, “I am not faking this weakness!”

“I didn't say that,” I respond, backpedaling. Even without having said it, I can tell that the ideas of honor and morality weigh heavily on this individual. I don't understand them, but I can certainly see their influence. “I wanted to know what's changed since then.”

Maybe it's the lethargy, but he lets the anger drain away again. Perhaps his body is simply too tired to sustain it in more than small bursts.

“I have had nothing to eat or drink since then, and attacking your oppressor used up the last bit of my strength.”

My eyes find the puddle on the floor, and things start to line up with his behavior.

“If I offered you water now, would you accept it?”

“No,” he responds, and I expected as much. That's why he knocked the glass over, to remove the temptation.

“If your aim is to die, then there are certainly easier ways to do it.”

“I'm not...” he says haltingly. “In my culture, we believe in rebirth. That the soul never truly dies, only that it gets shifted into a new form.”

He pauses, and I would think it was for dramatic effect if it weren't for the melancholy look on his face. Instead, I think it's probably a painful memory. Or maybe just something that's painful to think about.

“That caveat does not apply if you... take your own life,” he struggles to say. “Suicide is seen as an insult to the creator. We do not believe in a heaven or hell, only that your future life is influenced by your past actions. If you are pure in spirit, you ascend to a higher form of being. If you are malevolent, then you are reborn into a lower form, an animal or insect. But if you willingly take your own life for a selfish reason, then that cycle ends. You just... cease.”

As far as religions go, it's probably not the most fucked up one out there, but it certainly seems like it when applied to these circumstances.

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask him. It's a lot of information to be giving up voluntarily. He shoots a glare at me, but there is pain under that gaze that has nothing to do with me. This is something he's struggled with. Agonized over.

“I want you to understand that my actions are born out of principle, not selfishness. I have often considered if I am choosing the right path. Perhaps the lesser of two evils is to become nothing, perhaps I'm damning myself. As it is, I still inspire acts of cruelty as owners try to rouse me.” He looks pointedly at me. “And as assets lay their misguided hopes on my shoulders.”

“You are trying to help in the only way you can,” I rationalize, with the understanding this is his explanation for why he will not help Kip. “You can't be held responsible for events outside of your power.”

“Intentions and results must be balanced. If you heal a man only to see him beaten to death weeks later, have you truly aided him? Or only compounded his misery? Have you saved his life, or only denied him a peaceful death?”

“You can't know that. It doesn't always end that way.”

“Yes, it does,” he responds, his tone becoming aggravated, but I can't let it end there. Not with Kip's life in the balance.

“Zeke isn't the same as other owners...” I try, but Lee cuts me off with a snarl.

“Your master is more insidious and contemptible than the rest! How else would he have known how to...” Lee cuts himself off mid-sentence, biting down on the flow of words.

“Known how to what?” I ask, curiosity piqued. Lee shakes his head, and I can tell that he regrets saying that much. He refuses to say anything else, and we lapse into silence as I wait for him to respond.

Eventually, I realize that Lee has shut down the conversation and that pushing him about it is useless. Our previous conversation leads me to believe that he is both stubborn and tenacious, and that any type of coercion will only make him lock down further.

So I change gears.

“Do I need to carry you?” I ask. “Or can you make it if you lean on me?”

He must be surprised enough by the abrupt shift to let go of his silence. He gives a shaky, tired sigh and says, “If you help me to my feet, I should be able to walk.”

I take his hands and pull him up. He stumbles, but I hold him until he finds his feet. He leans against me heavily and I can feel his body trembling as we move. I wonder, for the first time, if Lee will be physically able to help Kip, even if he agrees. Can we trust a medic who's in such a state?

But then, we wouldn't be here now if we had another option.

The walk down the hall takes ages with Lee's tired, shuffling steps. Without the adrenaline of earlier – or maybe because of his earlier outburst – he seems almost ready to pass out. Still, he trudges forward and I have to admire his resilience. I can feel his body shaking as he leans against me, but he never asks to rest or stop. The grim expression on his face makes me think of a condemned man walking to his execution. What does he think he'll see when we arrive? What does he think is going to happen?

Then we're moving inside the medbay, and all my thoughts go to Kip. He's still lying there, pale and still as death, his breathing shallow but even. The dark circles around his eyes haven't faded or darkened. The expression on his face hasn't altered or the position of his limbs. It's like he's frozen, crystallized in this single moment.

For a moment, I wonder if we should even be trying to wake him. How long could he remain frozen like this? What if we try to wake him... and we fail?

Red is sitting in the chair by the bed, keeping watch. When he sees me, he rises slowly and walks to the door, giving me a wide berth as he exits. I'm going to have to talk to him at some point, assure him that I won't attack like a rabid animal again. I'm supposed to be training him, but I haven't even spoken to him yet. With everything else going on, it just hasn't seemed important.

Then it's just the three of us: Lee still standing mainly by his grip on my shoulder, Kip still unconscious in the bed, and me trying to figure out what to do about the both of them. I look to Lee's face and am surprised to find that his expression is... stricken. Anguished, with a note of self-loathing. His eyes are stuck on Kip's face with an intensity that surprises me, until he finally wrenches his gaze away with a pained sound.

“Do you think me heartless?” Lee asks at a whisper.

Caught by surprise, I only manage, “I...” before he cuts me off again.

“Do not mistake my resolve for apathy. If I did not care, then I would not suffer so.”

He takes a sudden, shaking step away from me and then collapses into one of the chairs next to Kip's bed. His gaze moves back toward the bed and he has to jerk it away again, like his attention is magnetically drawn to the bed and its occupant.

“Can you help him?” I ask.

“Damn that man,” Lee growls. “He's worked him to death! You want me to send him back to that life? Let him rest. Let him be at peace.”

“Zeke did not do this,” I defend, feeling guilt rise and strangle me. “I did.”

“You?”

I swallow against the lump in my throat and say, “It's my fault.”

“I don't...”

“Zero,” comes Zeke's voice from the doorway, “feels responsible because he was not able to arrest Kip's decline, but he is not actually the cause of Kip's condition.”

Zeke steps into the room, dressed only in sleeping pants and a loose cotton shirt. His hair is mussed from sleep, but he looks a bit less exhausted. He must have woken after only an hour or so and come straight down here to check on Kip. I can only imagine what he initially thought when he found me speaking with Lee over Kip's unconscious form, although he must approve of my plan at least somewhat if he hasn't ordered Lee to be restrained again.

Lee tenses as Zeke enters the room and I ready myself for another attack, but Lee is simply too exhausted to get out of the chair. Instead, he settles a fierce glare on Zeke, his expression contemptuous.

“And what do you think caused this?”

“I don't know,” Zeke admits. “I hold a share of the blame because I did not notice his deterioration, but I did not harm him. And I don't know how to help him.”

I look to Lee's face for a reaction and find him looking skeptical, but at least not as outwardly hostile as a moment ago.

“Do you know what's happening to him?” Zeke presses.

“Yes,” Lee responds solemnly.

“Will you help him?”

“I can give him a quick and painless death,” Lee says, but from his tone I can tell that it's not a threat. It's a genuine offer to relieve Kip's suffering. “I will not put his life back into your hands. If you do not let me intervene, then nature will run its course.”

“Is there a chance?” Zeke says, and his voice is quiet but there's an undertone of desperation. “Could he wake up on his own?”

I see Lee's eyes flick to the monitor on the wall for a moment, and I realize that he's looking over Kip's stats. It's only a glance, and then he shakes his head sadly and turns his gaze back to us.

“He will not recover without intervention. Even now, it might be too late.

“But you can... intervene?” Zeke asks.

Lee is silent, confirming that he could, if he chose to.

“What must I do to convince you that I want the best for these men? That I care for them?”

“Be someone else!” Lee snarls, his patience wearing thin as he jumps out of the chair in his anger. His shaking hands are balled into fists and held at his side. If he had the energy left, I have no doubt he would go after Zeke again. “I will never believe that a slave-master can ever be anything other than a monster! You want to prove your sincerity? Then set them free!”

It's Zeke's turn to look stricken, his face pale and haunted.

“That's what I thought,” Lee snarls.

“No, wait. I...”

“Enough lies!” Lee hisses, not even bothering to turn back toward Zeke. “I've had enough of your conniving, monster. You cannot beguile me with your words and promises. You're a fool if you think no one has tried before.”

Lee turns away from us. Zeke is blocking the entrance, so I don't have any worries that Lee will try to run off. It seems more likely that Lee just wants to put some space between himself and the man that he obviously wants to attack. Still, it leaves Zeke closer to Lee when Lee's steps falter, listing to the side before crashing onto his knees. Zeke moves quickly and manages to catch Lee before he goes all the way down, catching him while he's still on his knees.

“Get your filthy hands off of me,” Lee growls in a breathless voice. He's breathing in panting gasps, his face flushed and covered in a thin layer of perspiration. It's liquid that he doesn't have to spare, considering he's turned down all fluids so far.

“What's the matter with you?” Zeke asks the form in his arms.

“I'm dehydrated, you ass!” Lee shoots back, struggling and failing to pull himself out of Zeke's grasp. “Ellaine didn't want me pissing myself when you came to see me, so she cut off my fluid intake.”

“I gave you water before I left!”

Lee is silent, glaring daggers.

“He didn't drink the water,” I explain. “He knocked it over.”

“What? Why?”

“I think the technical term is 'hunger strike.' Or possibly 'suicide by neglect' might be more accurate.”

Zeke looks stunned and a bit horrified. I suppose he thought things would get easier once Lee woke up, not harder.

There's a moment of quiet and I can almost hear Zeke's brain working. And I can tell the moment he decides on a course of action, because he lets out a slow breath and straightens his posture. Zeke is more accustomed to being confident and in command. All this floundering has been difficult for him.

“Okay,” Zeke says in an even tone. “The first thing is going to be fluids. If we get you hydrated, it should abate some of your symptoms. We can talk about the other... issues when you're more lucid. I'll set you up with a fluid drip and you can get some rest.”

Lee gives Zeke a flat look.

“Are you aware that I'm a doctor? I know what an IV does.”

“Oh,” Zeke replies and then ducks his head as he blushes. “Right.”

Then Zeke is back to business, moving Lee until he's lying in the second cot in the room, parallel to Kip's. I expect more protesting from Lee, but he's docile as he complies. A look at his face tells me just how exhausted he is, and he seems relieved when he's able to lay down in the bed. His obedience makes me wonder if he might have an ulterior motive for cooperating, given how opposed he is to helping Zeke.

“Maybe you should restrain him,” I comment, thinking of the risk that Lee might decide that it's time to take the expedient way out of this situation.

Zeke and I both look to Lee, hoping for some kind of an answer or assurance. He looks away, unwilling to meet either gaze, and I think it's probably just as damning as an admission.

Zeke makes no comment as he takes the velcro straps and secures Lee's wrists and ankles. Lee makes no noise or movement of protest, staring determinedly at the wall.

When Zeke moves away to get the fluid drip, I settle by Lee.

“I'm surprised you didn't protest being restrained,” I comment quietly.

“Would it have done me any good?” comes the quiet, sullen reply. “I'm too weak to fight, and you're prepared now for any surprise attack I would try. I am at your mercy,” he says bitterly, not turning to look at me.

“It isn't so bad...” I try to tell him, but he scoffs at the idea. I let it go, knowing that he won't accept anything I to have say.

Zeke comes back and I vacate the seat to let him have easier access. Lee's arm is restrained along the bed rail, so it's simple for Zeke to swab the exposed vein and set the needle. He hangs a bag of fluid and then connects it to the line and starts a steady drip. Once it's set, he pulls away and asks, “Does it feel alright?”

“If you were my student, I would make you go back to the dummy and practice,” Lee replies, his voice tired and his eyes already closed. “But for an amateur it's passable.”

Zeke fights a bemused smile and says, “Thank you, I think.”

But it seems that Lee is already sleeping, so no reply is forthcoming.

While Zeke strips away his surgical gloves and cleans up the equipment, I keep an eye on Lee. His breathing is steady and he seems to be sleeping soundly, but I have to wonder... 

“Will he try to go back into his meditation?” I ask. “Should we wake him?”

“Ellaine told me that he always resumes a kneeling stance when he's in a trance. I believe that he can't get into that state unless he's in that specific position. It's why I left one of his wrists cuffed when he was in his cell. The wall was too close to allow him to kneel facing it, and his wrist kept him from turning to kneel in the other direction.”

“I just thought you were being cautious,” I respond dryly. I suppose I should have known better than that.

“He's so weak...” Zeke protests, but cuts it off at my sharp look.

“He was this weak when he defeated me,” I remind him. “Don't underestimate him.”

“No, I... You're right. I just wish...” he trails, his eyes going distant and sad as he finds Lee's sleeping form. “I wish he could understand that I'm trying to help.”

My fingers find his and I twine them, offering what little support I can give.

“You convinced me,” I reassure him.

He gives a bitter laugh and says, “I really don't have that kind of time this round.”

“You'll manage anyway.”

There's an odd mixture of pain and affection on his face when he leans in and kisses me. It's a gentle kiss, a soft pressing of his lips against mine, not meant to be anything more than a token of affection. I put my arms around his waist and pull him closer, and when the kiss breaks he leans his head against mine.

“I wish I had your confidence in me,” he says softly.

I have no response to that, so I offer him the support of my body and he leans against me. It isn't enough, though. There are still so many things between us, so many secrets that he's chosen to keep to himself, and I wish he would let me shoulder some of the burden. He's crumbling beneath it, even as I desperately try to hold together the ruins.

I realize suddenly that all three lives hang in the balance here. Kip, the only one with a physical malady and the closest to death. Lee, who sees no reason left to live. And Zeke, who's being crushed under the weight of holding the rest of us together.

And mine too, I suppose, because I would never go on living without them.


	29. Between Life and Death - Zero POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter!
> 
> So, this will be the last chapter in this section. I am late for East at my aunt's so this is going to be brief. Let me just give a quick GRAPHIC CONTENT warning. I don't want to ruin it by revealing what the graphic/violent content is, I just want you to be aware for it. 
> 
> This is hot off the press, unbetad. I truly appreciate all my betas and everything they do, and hopefully I will be able to start giving them more time to look things over for me. 
> 
> *So, from the comments I've gotten so far, I know everyone is really curious about how long my hiatus will be. The honest truth is: I don't know. I am thinking it will be in similar length to the last one, so around six months. (Which would put us at October/November.) However, getting these last few chapters up while also editing and responding to comments was really entirely too much for me. I'd like to say December but that month is always a nightmare for me. So I would say that the next section will start getting posted in January at the latest, and I would really love to manage before then but we'll have to see how it goes. If I can manage to cut down on the chapters in the next section (thirty chapters in this one is almost double what Perfect Zero was) then I might be able to start posting again sooner. 
> 
> I am also going to try to clear the cobwebs off of my website and start posting this fic along with progress updates and recommendations. So if you haven't checked it out already, take a look at [My Website](http://ryoko21.weebly.com/). I was also doing [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ryoko21Fiction) for a while. I don't really do much Twitter - is it even still a thing people do? I feel so old when I have to ask questions like that. I'm not even 30! How has technology managed to pass me by?!
> 
> I will be trying to get to comments tonight and over the next couple days, but I am already overwhelmed with all the responses I've gotten. You guys are really sending this section out with a bang! :) Also with a giant, "Whaaaaat? You can't stop there!!!!!!" but I don't blame you. I'm so sorry! If I win the lotto (which I haven't entered yet) I promise that I will dedicate myself to writing full-time. 
> 
> Thank you so much. I appreciated all the love! <3
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter. I promise, the next section will be going back to some of the more warm and cuddly scenes. This sections has been intense. Thanks for sticking with me!

Zeke and I spend some time trying to convince each other to go to bed – Zeke points out that I haven't really rested since Kip fell ill and I point out that Zeke only has a couple hours of sleep more than I do – before we both settle into our respective chairs in the medbay. Ruby brings us a tray of simple sandwiches and lemonade for... whatever meal this is. Now that the days are no longer punctuated by Kip's meticulously crafted cuisine, time has lost all structure for me. Food has also lost it's appeal, and I have to wonder if it's because of my worry for Kip or simply because the meals Ruby makes are basic and bland. Still, I'm hungry enough by this point that I eat out of necessity more than pleasure. Once my stomach is full, I recline in my chair and feel lethargy settle over me. It isn't long until I'm dozing. I'm awake long enough to see Zeke turn the lights down to a dim glow before I fully succumb.

I don't really know what pulls me out of my sleep. I'd like to say that I'm on a hair-trigger because of Lee's unpredictable actions, but it doesn't seem probable given that Lee is still sleeping. Still, I can feel that something is off immediately and I surge to my feet. The sudden movement startles Zeke, who comes awake just as violently.

“Zero?” he asks. “What's wrong?”

“I don't...” I start, then hesitate. “I don't know.”

Behind me, I hear Lee stir and then sit up as much as his bindings will allow. I try to listen over the sound of my heart hammering in my chest, but I can't figure out what I'm listening for. Was it just a dream? But I can't even remember what it was. Why would it affect me like this?

Then I hear it again, and this time I know it's not a dream. Zeke must hear it too, because he climbs to his feet and comes to Kip's bedside without even pausing to turn on the lights.

“Kip?” Zeke calls softly. “Can you hear me?”

There's another soft rustle from the bed and my heart leaps. This has to be a good sign, right? He's stirring, so he must be coming around.

“I thought you said he wouldn't wake up on his own?” I growl at Lee, the accusation clear in my voice. Did he purposefully mislead us?

Then Kip stirs again, but this time the movement is sharp and oddly jerky.

“He's not awake!” Lee snaps. “Get the damn lights up!”

Audio cues aren't set up in this room, so I stumble to the wall and slap the panel until I find the right button. Bright, white lights throw the room into stark relief and I blink, half blind, as I stumble back toward the bed. By the time my vision clears I'm already in front of Kip again, staring down at his twitching form.

He looks...

God.

He looks so much worse.

His eyes are open, but I can tell the he's not seeing anything. His empty gaze is focused on a fixed point on the ceiling, his eyes wide and unmoving. Deep, scarlet lines run across the whites of his eyes, staining the entire area pink with blood. At the corners, the blood as pooled in wide, dark patches. It makes his pale, silver eyes look almost white in comparison. A metal disk over bloodstained marble. Even as I watch, the pink darkens and spreads.

His jaws are clenched. It's the next thing I notice, trailing my eyes along his face. His skin is so ashen that it looks almost gray, except for his face, which has a nearly purple undertone. For a moment, I think that he's not breathing, but then he takes a wet, sputtering breath through clenched teeth. Saliva bubbles at the side of his mouth and drips down his chin. He chokes and coughs without opening his mouth, his chest heaving as he tries to take uneven, impeded breaths.

“Put him on his side!” Lee snarls, then snaps his mouth shut, like it was a slip.

But it's too late to take it back, and Zeke and I are jarred into action. Our hands find Kip and we struggle to get him turned. He fights us, bucking and jerking his limbs in a random pattern. Zeke almost gets headbutted when a strong spasm doubles Kip in half, pulling his torso out of my grip. I hadn't thought there would be so much strength left in his thin, shaking form. When his back relaxes again, we manage to get him turned onto his right side, putting his back to me. He takes a breath, his airway clearing of liquid, and then another and another. His breathing is stilted and gasping, his body still clenched too tight.

There's a high keen coming from him, so soft that I almost can't hear over the sound of the blood rushing in my ears. It's an animal sound, not a cry for help but something he can't seem to stop. His shoulders still twitch and jerk, each time trying to pull him from my grip. I hold him firm, afraid of hurting him but more afraid of letting him turn on his back and drown in his own spit. It doesn't seem to be stopping, and in desperation I throw a glance over my shoulder at Lee, still tied to the other bed.

“What do we do?” I snarl, but he won't look at me. “Lee! Damn it, he'll die!”

But Lee's jaw is clenched, his shoulders set in resolve. He still won't help us. I think about dragging him over here, about twisting his arm until he changes his mind or the bone snaps. I think about moving along each appendage until he agrees or I run out of limbs. I think about it, but I can't make myself leave Kip's side.

Kip's hands are balled into fists, trembling with the exertion of holding them so tight. I wrap my hands around one of his fists, cupping it because I know my strength could easily injure him if I exert any force. So instead, I make my hands a protective armor for him, clenching my fingers until my knuckles are white and I'm shaking with the strain. If I just grip on tight enough, maybe I can hold onto him. Maybe I can loan him some of my strength. Maybe I can do something for him. Anything.

Beside me, I hear Zeke yelling at Lee, but no response is forthcoming so I tune it out. My awareness narrows down to Kip and the shaking of his body, the erratic muscles spasms, the choking gasps, and the stuttering breaths. Some distant part of my brain whispers, “Seizure,” but I don't dare put a name to this. If I don't name it, then I can pretend it's all just a bad dream.

Kip's shaking starts to lessen.

His erratic breathing slows.

I pretend that it's a good thing.

I refuse to acknowledge that it might be a bad thing.

That it might be the worst thing.

The muscles of his back relax and he uncurls into a more natural position.

His arms and shoulders go lax.

Inside my hand, I feel his fist lose its tension.

His eyes slip closed slowly.

His breathing steadies until it's an even rhythm.

I hold his hand in an iron grip, careful not to crush his hand but unable to convince my muscles to relax.

I listen to his breathing. In and out. Slow, rhythmic, smooth. There's a hesitation, just for an instant, between each breath. When the lungs are done expelling air and just before they start to reinflate. Every time, in that moment of silence, I feel my heart leap in my chest.

What if he doesn't take the next breath?

What will I do?

In and out.

Slow.

Even.

In.

Out.

In.

“Zero?”

Out.

In.

Out.

“Zero, he's okay now.”

In.

“You need to let go now.”

Out.

In.

Out.

“Let go of his hand.”

In.

“Damn it.”

Out.

In.

“I'm sorry about this.”

Out.

In.

“Zero, sensory deactivation.”

And then there's nothing but darkness left.

When I come to, it's with the surreal sensation of not being sure of where I am. Zeke must have put me in the black just long enough to move me away from Kip, because I hardly have time realize what happened before I'm awake again. I find that I'm sitting in a chair, probably the same one I was sleeping in earlier. I'm dazed, but there's no lingering confusion like I would have if I'd been drugged. I struggle to get my bearings. We're still in the medbay. Kip is on the bed beside me, and I can see his chest rising and falling. At least his breathing is steady, although he still looks deathly pale. His eyes are closed again. I find myself feeling guilty for being relieved, but I don't know if I could stand to look into those empty, glassy eyes again.

Zeke and Lee are arguing on the other side of the room. Well, not so much arguing as Zeke yelling at Lee while Lee pretends not to hear him. Zeke looks pale and shaken as well – I have to assume that Kip's spasm hit him just as hard as it hit me. I focus on them, trying to gauge how long I've been out by how far they are in the conversation.

“...understand how you can just watch him die! Are you so unfeeling that you don't care?”

“Do not,” Lee snarls, “make me out to be the monster here! He's been dead since you captured him! You're the one who's worked him to death! You're responsible for this!”

Something about that statement hits Zeke hard – maybe still blames himself for not noticing that Kip was ill, even though Kip and I did everything we could to hide it – and Zeke flinches back like he's been slapped. He turns away from Lee and leans on the counter along the far wall, putting his back to the rest of the room. I see how tense his shoulders are, the way his hands shake as he grips the counter. His usually calm demeanor has abandoned him.

“Could you save him if you took action now?” Zeke asks.

“I don't see how that's relevant...”

“Could you save him?” Zeke snarls.

Lee hesitates, and I see his eyes move to Kip in a calculating manor. I realize after a moment that he's calculating the odds, trying to figure out what his chances are of helping. Is there a chance, then? After what I just witnesses, I wasn't sure.

“Maybe,” Lee admits reluctantly. “I don't know. The damage might already be too extensive. It's hard to tell.”

“Fuck!” Zeke snarls, and kicks one of the cabinets along the floor. “Fuck!”

He runs a hand through his hair and takes a shaking, unsteady breath. Lee watches him warily, still sitting up as much as he can with his restraints.

“Okay,” Zeke says, his voice still wavering but sounding more calm. “We don't have time for this.” He turns to Lee. “We need to talk, and I think we can agree that this is not the place for it. Will you give me your word that you won't attack me if I release you?”

Lee hesitates for a long moment, struggling to hide a look of confusion. His eyes dart over to Kip's pale, still form and he gives a small but pained sigh.

“On my honor, I will hear you out. I will not attack you without... provocation.”

I don't ask why Zeke is bothering with all this, why he doesn't just black Lee and move him without his consent. But then, all of this is suddenly seeming very pointless. Lee is unwilling to help, and any actions taken to convince him will result in him being unable to help.

My eyes have found their way to Kip's chest again and I'm counting the breaths. In and out. How many are left? How long can he go on like this? He's been at the end of his endurance for so long, and help is nowhere to be found.

I watch from the corner of my eye as Zeke moves to Lee. Lee doesn't flinch, but I can tell that it's from sheer force of will. With quick, jerking motions Zeke releases the velcro straps on the scholar's limbs, but his hands slow as he removes the needle from Lee's arm. Even panic for Kip can't completely remove Zeke's need to care for his assets. How much must his instincts be warring inside him right now? Given that the situation has created such a dichotomy for him – hurt one asset to save another, or salvage Lee and lose Kip.

When Lee is unbound and slowly sitting up on his own, Zeke turn his attention to me expectantly. I realize with a start that he expects me to go with them, to leave Kip behind again.

“I can't,” I whisper desperately, my hand finding the rail of Kip's bed again, my fingers wrapping around it like a tether. “Please, don't ask me to leave him.”

Zeke looks surprised, but he covers it quickly.

“Alright,” he replies, his voice carefully neutral. “I'll send Red and Ruby in to sit with you.”

I have no opinion on that, so I respond only in a nod. Will I regret this later? Does Zeke need me to help him with Lee? What if Lee hurts him? Will his word be enough to hold Lee's fury? And wouldn't I be doing more good for Kip by forcing Lee to change his opinion than by sitting here uselessly? But every time I try to make myself stand, I find my fingers gripping the rail of his bed in a crushing, unwavering grip.

Zeke turns back to Lee, who is on his feet. He seems more solid than earlier. The fluids must have done a lot for him, although not enough to undo all the damage. There's a look of trepidation on Lee's face – resignation, curiosity, and wariness seem to war within him. He is not as unaffected as he would like us to believe, now that he's out of his trance. Despite his mixed emotions, he straightens his back and holds his head high, a look of fierce determination on his face.

“I don't know what your plans are, but I will not be swayed by a golden tongue or a swift lash. Do your worst, savage,” Lee growls. His stance is set wide, his shoulders tensed. Ready for a fight.

Zeke sighs.

“Just follow me,” he responds. It isn't the reaction Lee was expecting, and he blinks a couple times before following Zeke.

Ruby and Red enter later, settle quietly in chairs on the far side of the room. I don't acknowledge them. They sit quietly, just watching Kip with me. I don't know if I could have handled it if they'd tried to talk to me. I watch Kip breathe, trying to keep myself from falling back into my earlier daze but unable to pull my eyes away from the comforting pattern. It reassures me.

In and out.

There's still time.

In and out.

He could still wake up.

In and out.

I haven't lost him. Not yet. There's still time

I don't know how long I watch Kip, keeping silent vigil over his form. It seems like hours and minutes at the same time. Ruby and Red shift restlessly but never speak. All the while, I can't help but feel like he's slipping away from me.

And then they're back.

Lee enters in a flurry of motion. He looks... fine. Better than he did when he left with Zeke. There are no signs of trauma or abuse. If I had been expecting Zeke to beat him into submission, I have proof that it's not the tactic Zeke took.

“Everyone out!” Lee demands, his voice stern and confident. It's a voice that's used to taking charge, a voice that expects his commands to be instantly followed. Red and Ruby get to their feet immediately and shuffle from the room. Lee watches them exit and before turning back toward us. His eyes find mine and I see an expectant expression on his face.

Wait.

Me?

No.

No, I can't...

I give him a look that must be part reluctance and part... simply lost. It makes him hesitate. The air of authority falls away and he leans in close, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“I need you to leave now,” he says gently. “I have work to do and you can't be here for it. Go. You've done your part, now it's my turn. He's in good hands.”

I don't remember agreeing. I don't remember forcing my hands to let go of the dented bed-rail. I don't remember getting out of my chair or shuffling out of the room. I don't remember the door closing behind us.

I do remember leaning over Kip, his still form and his pale skin, and kissing him gently on the temple. I remember feeling his soft breath ghost against my cheek. I remember his soft skin against my own. I remember wondering if I'm assuring him that I'll be back... or if I'm telling him goodbye.

In the hall, Zeke takes me by the shoulders and leads me away from the closed door. I don't go more than a few steps before balking.

“No, I... I'll wait here.”

“Okay,” he responds easily, and his hold becomes more comforting than guiding. Does he know that I'm holding on by a tenuous thread? Can he tell?

But then, Zeke can always tell what I'm feeling. Him and Kip both. It seems like once I let someone under my armor, I have no defense against them. Is that why this hurts so much? Why I feel like I'm being unraveled from the inside? Is it because Kip is already under my skin, and now he's being ripped away?

“Are you okay?” Zeke murmurs, turning me in his arms so that we're facing.

Unable to find my voice, I just shake my head.

He sighs and pulls me against him. His skin is warm and real against mine. I lean my head against his chest and listen to his heart beat. He's so alive.

A thought comes to me, almost too horrible to consider.

“I don't know,” I whisper brokenly.

“Don't know what?” Zeke asks gently.

“If I... If I can live with one and not the other.”

He goes silent and still, my meaning instantly clear.

“You won't have to,” he assures me, pulling me close. His arms come around me in a bruising grip and it's just what I need. I feel like I'm coming apart and I hold on to Zeke, riding it out with him. I notice, for the first time, that he's shaking just as hard as I am. I'm still afraid, but suddenly I feel less alone.

Time seems off to me.

It seems like we stand there for a long time. Then it seems like no time has passed at all before he's ushering me deeper into the cargo bay. The medbay entrance is on the side wall of the cargo bay, and Zeke leads me to a little alcove and lets me curl up on the floor.

It feels like I've been on watch for a very long time, and suddenly I've been relieved. I'm ashamed to admit that I doze off. When I wake up, it's to the feeling of being stiff and achy from sleeping too long on the ground. I move, and pain lances up my arms. I realize that my hands are sore from clutching Kip's bedrail too hard for too long. I glance around and see Ruby curled in a ball and sleeping across from me. Red is nowhere to be found. Zeke is standing by the entrance to the medbay, speaking with Lee.

My heart leaps and I surge to my feet, stumbling as my sore limbs protest.

“Is he...”

“He's alive,” Lee assures me. “He's in stable condition. The rest is up to him, we won't know how extensive the damage is until he wakes up. There is still a chance that he won't wake, but I'm cautiously optimistic at this point.”

I fall to my knees with relief. Hope surges in me. He'd been so close, and now...

Zeke helps me back up and I lean on him for support.

“What happened?” Zeke asks. “What we wrong with him?”

“Too much pressure on his brain,” Lee says. He sounds tired, but also professional. He seems more at ease in this role, despite the exhaustion that's evident. “This particular set of clones has a problem with ideopathic intercranial pressure. It means that his body doesn't drain fluid appropriately from his brain, causing spikes in pressure on his brain that can cause migraines and a slew of other conditions.”

“How were you able to identify it so quickly?” Zeke presses.

“Kip isn't the first clone from this batch that I've worked on,” Lee admits. “I assumed that this was the problem when I first saw him. There were some complications I hadn't anticipated,” Lee frowns disapprovingly, “but overall it was as I expected.”

“Complications?” Zeke questions. Lee sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“You can't just put an asset on high level painkillers and expect them to have no side effects once you take them off.” Lee levels an angry glare at him. “These are things that you should be informing the doctor of before he starts a procedure.”

“High levels of...” Zeke trails, then it clicks.

Kip had been off the pain patches for several days before any of this happened. I hadn't thought...

“Damn it, Zero,” Zeke growls. “This too? Does your hip even bother you or was that a lie as well?”

Lee glances between us, confusion clear on his face.

“My hip is problematic,” I respond, unconcerned with how much trouble I'm in, “but I haven't resorted to using drugs for it. Kip was using the pain-patches and I... I covered for him.”

Zeke growls, but then smothers his anger.

“We will speak of this later,” he warns, but it doesn't phase me.

Lee has his eyes on me again, his expression uncertain and contrite.

“I didn't mean...” he starts, then hesitates, his glance darting back to Zeke for a moment. I guess Lee didn't realize he'd be getting me in trouble, or that Zeke hadn't known about it.

“I've done a lot of things wrong lately,” I admit, feeling tired and worn. “I thought I knew what I was doing, but I almost let Kip die.”

“Is that how he hid his symptoms for so long?” Lee asks.

I nod. “Is that what caused all of this?”

Lee shakes his head. “It might have exacerbated this situation, maybe even triggered this spike in pressure, but Kip would have gotten to the same place eventually.”

“Why couldn't anyone identify what was wrong with him?” Zeke asks quietly. “Why did it take this long to get a diagnosis? Several other owners had Kip medically assessed by trained assets. Certainly they would have found something?”

Lee hesitates, then says, “They probably knew exactly what was wrong with him.”

“Then why...”

“Plausible deniability. They didn't test or treat him for this condition so they wouldn't have to tell you about it. As an asset, Kip is now a liability. Treatment for this condition is neither easy nor cheap. He'll need to be under constant medical supervision for several month. He'll always need medicine to control his condition, and he might still have symptoms despite having the best care available.”

“That explains why Reynard and Carmé wouldn't have informed me, but I sent Kip's tests to... to an outside source. Why couldn't they figure it out?”

“At this stage,” Lee responds, “only the intervention of a skilled physician could help. If your outside specialists did not see that as an option, they may have chosen not to inform you of the results. It's also possible that, given your rudimentary equipment and their lack of knowledge about the situation, they couldn't identify the problem as there was no evident cause.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and I sense that something bigger is going on than I'm aware of. Is this about that person Zeke was talking to? When he was trying to get help for Kip? Does Lee know about them, or is this simple conjecture?

“Is that why we haven't seen any others from his group?” Zeke continues, letting that topic go even though it seems to concern him.

“In a way,” Lee responds wearily. “It's likely that once the disorder was known, most of them were taken as a loss and disposed of. I'm assuming Kip was already in a position of some importance by the time this condition was discovered, or he probably wouldn't have been kept this long. Between their frailty and the general shortness of an asset's lifespan, I'm not surprised that most of them are gone.” Lee's eyes are tired and a bit haunted. I can only assume that he knows first-hand how short and violent the life of an asset can be.

“But you know what's wrong now,” I point out, “and you've fixed it. So he'll be okay?”

“I used a lumbar puncture to drain a small amount of fluid from his spinal column,” Lee explains. “That should help to relieve pressure on his brain. It's a delicate matter, as relieving the pressure too quickly can kill him. I may have to repeat the procedure again before he stabilizes. I would have liked to place a shunt, but given my limited supplies this was the best I could do. He'll still have to be monitored, and we might have to install the shunt later if he doesn't respond to treatment. However, given the circumstances, he's doing as well as can be expected.”

Lee hesitates then, and meets my eyes before he continues.

“I have to warn you that I don't know how extensive the damage is at this point,” Lee admits, and his voice takes on a professional tone again. “He might not be the same person you remember. He might have trouble with speaking, or loss of vision, or any other range of possibilities given how long his brain was under pressure. Some of the affects might heal in time. Some... might not.”

“Whatever happens, he will be well taken care of,” Zeke says firmly, his hand settling on my shoulder.

“Of course,” Lee says crisply. “I wouldn't have helped if I'd had any doubt about that.”

I have to wonder, what happened to make Lee so sure of Zeke, when only hours before he was trying to kill my owner? Why the rapid change of heart?

“We're going to have to stop for medicine,” Lee continues. “I would also like to get some better equipment and...” suddenly he's listing to the side, and Zeke jumps up to catch him. Lee sags Zeke's arms, his head pressed against Zeke's shoulder and his eyes shut, clearly experiencing vertigo. Given his capabilities, I almost forgot just how weak Lee is. He's still recovering as well.

“Is there anything else you can do tonight?” Zeke asks.

“No,” Lee responds, his eyes still shut, his voice tired and wispy. “It's just a matter of waiting now. We won't know what kind of damage has been done until he wakes up.”

“Okay,” Zeke replies, “then I think it's time for you to rest.”

He lifts Lee easily and turns back to the medbay. I trail behind, wanting to see Kip but afraid of what I'll find. Zeke places Lee back in the other bed, helping the scholar settle in. I stand in the doorway, awkwardly.

“You can go see him,” Lee tells me as he settles back in the second bed. “Just don't jostle or turn him.”

I find myself oddly reluctant to enter the room, even as I find myself moving. It's like I'm afraid that I'll find the bed empty and realize that was all a fever dream. That Kip is gone and I'm having this delusion so that I don't have to admit it.

But Kip is lying in the bed, his skin still pale but with better color than earlier. He's curled on his side, his hair spilling across his face. I take my seat again and gently push the gold locks away from his face. Relief pours over me as I touch his warm skin and watch his steady breathing.

I don't even know how to feel. Everything is so tangled up inside me. My mind had already begun to process his death, and now... Now it's like a weight has been lifted from my chest. It still hurts, but at least I can breathe.

I single tear tracks down my cheek and I wipe it away. I want to curl up next to him and wrap him up in my embrace, but I don't dare. Instead, I settle as close to him as I can and take his hand in my own, pressing my forehead against it. I feel the beat of his pulse in his wrist and, for the first time since he's fallen ill, I don't expect it to falter at any moment.

He's going to be okay. I immerse myself in that single thought. He's going to live.

But a nagging question circles my mind, buzzing around my consciousness, and poisoning my joy at Kip's prognosis. Without fear for Kip's life to distract me, I find myself unable to put it aside. Late into the night while I keep silent vigil at Kip's bed, one thought returns to me again and again.

What the hell did Zeke tell Lee?

 


End file.
